Reading The Truth about Forver
by jright
Summary: What happens when the characters of The Truth about Forever come together and read the book the day after they meet Macy? For all those Truth about Forever fans who can't find a completed one! Ta-Da! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Description:

What happens when the characters of _The Truth about Forever_ come together and read the book the day after they meet Macy? For all those _Truth about Forever _fans who can't find a completed one!

**Disclaimer**: I do **Not** own _The Truth about Forever_ or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.

Chapter 1

Wes's POV

The house was quiet, surprisingly; Bert was still knocked out from last night's catering Job, and Delia was in the yard playing with Lucy. I don't know what made me wake up so early, but I went into the kitchen and put on some coffee. I had to admit last night had been a little different, especially with that new girl, Macy I think her name was. She seemed very quiet, but if it weren't for her help, we probably wouldn't have made through the night. I shook the thought from my head; we probably wouldn't be seeing her anytime soon. Delia and Lucy came back inside; Delia was holding a small package.

"Hey Wes, sweetheart I got something here for you," she handed me the package, on top sat a letter. Neither the package nor the letter had return address. I wondered idly if I should be worried. I wanted to smack my hand upside my head, I doubt it's a bomb, we may mess up some catering jobs but I highly doubt that would get us blown up. I open the letter; It had a big "Read First" sign on it.

_I know this sounds crazy, but in this package is a book for you, it's very special, and It's about someone one you care about very much. Or at least, will care about very much. Get all of Wish Catering together tonight and read it, may it give you clarity and good luck. _

I was stunned and confused. How could a book tell me about someone I care about? More importantly will care about, what does that even mean? I would be fooling myself if I put this down and swore I'll never read it. I'm already interested and I haven't even read the title yet. Well, What the Hell it can't kill me?

"Hey Delia, do you think you could invite Kristy, and Monica or for dinner tonight?"

"Sure, anything special in mind?" she said eyeing me curiously.

"Anything you make will be perfect," I said giving her a kiss on the cheek and moving to my room, "I'll bring the surprise, deal?"

"Sure, hey what was in the package?"

"Just a book, I ordered I'll tell you about it later," I shrugged and opened my bedroom door she knew I wasn't much of a reader, so I would have to hide the package until tonight. Now the only question left is how in the world am I going to get everyone to read it, especially Bert?

"hey," I said, making my way around the table. Kristy was already at her seat with her plate; Monica, Bert, and Delia were still in the kitchen loading up. Since I rarely want big dinners, Delia went all out making Turkey, homemade Macaroni and cheese, sweet potatoes, corn on the comb, and dessing. To an outsider, this was a super early Thanks Giving, to everyone here Delia wanted to know what was wrong with me. I sighed, this isn't going to be easy.

"Hey Wes," Kristy whispered across the table, "you're not going back to Meyers school are you?"

I rolled my eyes, "I already graduated remember, and no, I just have something interesting to share that's all."

Kristy shrugged and started digging back into her food. I could hardly eat, this was the first time I had been nervous ever, and that's something for me. I just had to keep telling myself, this would be fine. When everyone came into the dining room and sat down, I pulled out the package. I saw Delia's eyes widen in surprise, and then shoot straight to my face. I decided I was going to let them eat a little first before I dove in. We everyone was half done with their food I started.

"I know everyone's wondering why I called you for this dinner," My stomach was locked; it was hard to even get the words out.

"You're not going to jail are you," I heard Bert mutter under his breath, I shot him a glare and continued.

"I'm not in any trouble," I figured I would get that out of the way first," I got this book in the mail this morning, but it's not a regular book."

"Did it come from Narnia," Bert snickered.

"Bert enough, "Delia said hitting him upside the head with a fork, I stifled my laugh. "Wes go on and tell us what it's about."

"Well, I don't really know, there was a note, and it said that the book is about someone I cared about, or would care about." It sounded crazier the more I tried to explain.

"That sounds really creepy do, you think it's a stalker or something?" Kristy sound around a moth full of Turkey.

"I don't think so," I said shaking my head, "the letter said to read it with all of you so that why I asked you to come."

Delia nodded her head and looked thoughtfully at the package by my side. After a moment of deliberation I heard her sigh, "Well, It couldn't hurt to read it, if it's a stalker we can give it to the police, and if it's really is a book about someone your going to meet well-" she paused there shaking her head, and then she shrugged.

"Then I guess you can choose whether to meet the person or not," Delia went back to her food.

"It might be someone you already know," Kristi said eyeing the book with a suspicious look in her eyes, "I hope it's not about your good little druggie, Becky."

I rolled my eyes, "Let it go Kristy, and I doubt it's about her anyway, so after dinner are we going to read?" Everyone nodded their heads and agreed. I was thankful they didn't make this hard. I guess because I hardly ever ask for stuff, they felt that must be important to me. Sometimes you luck out when it comes to family. Even one as weird and unconventional as mine.

After dinner was cleared off the table everyone stayed seated at the table.

"Urg, are we really going to sit here and do nothing but read a book?" Bert groaned across the table.

"Yes, Now who want to read first?" Delia said in her sweet but threatening voice.

"Ooh, I didn't know we got to take turns, me first," Kristi said, raising her hand in the air, I snorted of course she would.

"Bettaquit," Monica said from her seat next to Kristi. Sometimes I loved her monotone.

"Sure Kristi you start," I said to make this hurry along; this was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do **Not** own _The Truth about Forever_ or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.

Chapter 2

**The Truth about Forever**

"Interesting name, it looks like it's about a girl," Kristy shot me a smirk; I groaned I doubt my love life had anything to do with this.

**Chapter 1:** Kristy read.

**Jason was going to brain camp.**

"What the heck is brain camp?" Bert snorted by my side.

"A place where you will never go," I said making Delia and Kristy laugh, Bert shot me a murderous glare.

**It had another name, a real name, but that what everybody called it. **

"**Okay," He said, wedging a final pair of socks along the edge of his suitcase. "The list. One more time."**

"Ugh, I hate overly organized people, they bore me to tears," Kristy groaned rolling her head against the back of her seat.

"I wish we had some overly organized people, maybe then we could charge more," Delia said chuckled. She wishes, that so wasn't going to happen.

**I picked up the piece of paper beside me. "Pens," I said. "Notebooks. Phone Card. Camera battery. Vitamins."**

"Where the fun stuff, and who the heck packs Vitamin's," Kristy laughed. I had to admit that was a little, ridiculous.

**His fingers moved across the contents of the bag, finding and identifying each item. Check and double- check. With Jason, it was always about being sure.**

"Where's the fun in that?" Bert said.

"**Calculator." I continued, "Laptop. . . "**

"**Stop," He said, putting up his hand. He walked over to his desk, unzipping the slim black bag there, and then nodded at me. **

"**Skip down to list number two."**

"How many lists does this guy have exactly," I said warily.

Kristy snickered, trying to hold in her laugh.

**I scanned down the page, found the words LAPTOP (CASE), and cleared my throat. "Blank CD's," I said. "Surge protector. Head phones. . . ."**

**By the time we'd covered that, then finished the main list- stopping to cover two other subheadings, TOILETRIES and MISCELLANEOUS-**

"You have got to be kidding me," Kristy groaned, "This guy is so boring, and who the heck would go out with him?"

**Jason seemed pretty much convinced he had everything. This did not, however, stop him from continuing to circle the room, mumbling to himself.**

"Now he sounds like you Delia," Bert smirked at her.

"Well, when I'm working with you all, I have to, or else we will forget everything," Delia huffed from the head of the table.

**It took a lot of work to be perfect. If you didn't break a sweat, there was no point in even bothering. **

"if she really thinks this guy is perfect, she is out of her mind," Kristy rolled her eyes. She didn't believe in the word perfect, and I would have to agree with her.

"MmmHmm," Apparently so did Monica.

**Jason Knew perfect. Unlike most people, for him it wasn't some distant horizon. For Jason, perfect was just over the next hill, close enough to make out the landscape. And it wasn't a place he would just visit. He was going to live there.**

"That's impossible to accomplish, no one can live there," Kristy was right, but I sensed this would be a recurring theme for whoever this is.

**He was the All state math champ, head of the debate team, Holder of the highest GPA in the history of our high school (He'd been taking AP classes since seventh grade, college sections since tenth), student council president two years running, responsible for an innovative school recycling program now implemented in districts around the country, fluent in Spanish and French. But it wasn't just about academics. Jason was also a Vegan and spent the last summer building houses for Habitat for Humanity. He practiced Yoga, visited his grand-mother in her rest home every other Sunday, and had a pen pal in Nigeria he'd been corresponding with since he was eight years old. Anything he did, he did it well.**

"Good god, you were saying Kristy," Bert said in awe. Then laughed at Kristy's expression.

"He still isn't completely perfect," Kristy slumped in her seat annoyed.

**A lot of people might find this annoying, even loathsome.**

"Apparently Kristy's one of them," Delia snickered. Kristi glowered at her.

**But not me. He was just what I needed.**

"I wonder why?" Delia asked concerned. She always the concerned mom, and being pregnant has only helped.

**I had known since the first day we met, in English class sophomore year. We'd been put into groups to do an assignment on **_**Macbeth**_**, **

"Urg, more books, and the old kind," Bert said with a frown.

"That settles it, I'm going to make you read more books from now on, until you grow to appreciate them," I smiled at his horrified expression.

"I meant Yay! More book, and the old kind," Bert cheered, pumping his fists in the air. I rolled my eyes.

**Me and Jason and a girl named Amy Richmond who, after we pulled our desks together, promptly announced she was "no good at this Shakespeare crap" and put her head down on her backpack.**

"God that girl sounds dumb as a stump," Kristy and I said laughing.

**A second later, she was sound asleep. Jason just looked at her. "well," he said, opening his textbook," I guess we she get started." This was right after everything happened and I was in a silent phase.**

"Oh no, I hope it wasn't too bad, whatever happened," Delia truly looked concerned for the girl.

**Words weren't coming to me well; in fact I had trouble even recognizing them sometimes, entire sentences seeming like they were another language, or backwards, as my eyes moved across them. Just printing my own name on top of a page a few days previously, I'd second guessed the letters and their order; not even sure of that anymore.**

No one found this funny everyone was looking to Bert and me, I remember feeling the same way when my mom died. Second guessing all my decisions and never knowing which way was up. I hoped that she didn't have the same bad experience we did.

**So of course **_**Macbeth**_** had totally mystified me. I'd spent the entire weekend struggling with the antiquated language and weird names of the characters, unable to even figure out the most basic aspects of the story.**

"Ha even she's confused," Bert's Joke was halfhearted, the more she described it, the more sure we were she had lost someone. Everyone stared at the book with sad eyes.

**I opened my book, staring down at the lines of dialogue: **_**Had I but died an hour before this chance/ I had lived a blessed time; for, from this instant, / there's nothing serious in mortality:/all is but toys. **_**Nope, I thought. Nothing.**

We all chuckled lightly.

**Lucky for me, Jason, who was not about to leave his grade in someone else's hands, was used to taking control of group work.**

"Urg and he's a control freak," Kristy muttered under her breath.

**So he opened his notebook to a clean page, pulled out a pen, and uncapped it. "First," he said to me, "let's just get down to the basic themes of the play. Then we can figure out what to write about." **

**I nodded. All around us I could hear our classmates chattering, the tired voice of our English teacher, Mr. Sonnenberg, telling us again to please settle down. Jason skipped down a few lines on his page. **_**Murder**_**; I watched him write. His handwriting was clean, block-style, and he moved across the page quickly. **_**Power. Marriage. Revenge. Prophecy. Politics**_**. It seemed like he could go on forever, but then he stopped and looked at me. "What else?" he asked.**

"Wow he actually remembered she was there," I said surprising myself with the sneering tone in my voice. Kristy smiled over excitedly at me. I rolled my eyes, like I said before; I doubt this is about my love life.

**I glanced back down at my book, as if somehow the words there would suddenly form together into something coherent. I could feel Jason looking at me, not unkindly, just waiting for me to contribute. "I don't. . ." I said finally, and then stopped, the words sticking. I swallowed, and then started over. "I don't understand it, actually." I was sure hearing this; he'd shoot me the same look he'd given Amy Richmond. But Jason surprised me, putting down his pen. "Which part?"**

"That was nice of him, being patient and actually caring to help her," Delia sighed rubbing her pregnant stomach.

"I guess it kind was," Kristy admitted reluctantly. She was determined not to like this guy.

"**Any of it," I said and when he didn't roll his eyes as I'd been expecting, I added, "I mean, I know there's a murder plot and I know there's an invasion but the rest. . .I don't know. It's totally confusing." "Look," he said, picking up his pen again. "It's not as complicated as you think. The key to really understanding is to start with the prophecy about what going to happen . . . see, here. . ." He started flipping pages in his book, still talking, and pointed out a passage to me. Then he read it aloud, and as his finger moved across the words it was like he changed them, magic, and suddenly they made sense.**

"I guess he is good for something, but I'm still not convinced he's extraordinary," Kristy huffed. I rolled my eyes at her Ludacris word for guys she was into. But I've long since given up that whole argument on exactly what her kind of guy is.

**And I felt comfort. Finally. All I'd wanted for so long was for someone to explain everything that had happened to me in this same way. To label it neatly on a page: this leads to this leads to this.**

"I wish it were that simple," I whispered. Everyone turn to me with a sad expressio0n again I looked down and waited for Kristy to continue. Kristy looked down and then nudging my shoulder smile at me. I gave her a confused expression waiting for her to continue.

**I knew, deep down, it was more complicated than that,**

Kristy shot me the same smile; I shook my head, I hope she gave this up quickly.

**Watching Jason I was hopeful. He took the mess that was**_** Macbeth**_** and fixed it, and I had to wonder if he might, in some small way, be able to do the same for me. So I moved myself closer to him, and I'd been there ever since.**

"Well now their relationship makes more since," Kristy said.

"Yeah, but I doubt he will be able to fix her, she has to do it herself," Delia sighed.

**Now, he zipped up his laptop case and put it on the bed with the rest of her stuff. "Okay," He said, taking one last glance around the room. "Let's go."**

**His mom and dad were already in their Volvo when we came outside. Mr. Talbot got out, opened the trunk, and he and Jason took a few minutes getting everything situated. As I got in the backseat and put on my seatbelt, Mrs. Talbot turned around and smiled at me. She was a botanist, her husband a chemist, both of them professors.**

"No wonder he's a know-it-all, "Bert smirked, "it runs in the family."

**They were so scholarly that every time I saw either of them without a book in their hands they looked weird to me, as if they were missing their noses, or their elbows. I tried not to think about this as she said, "So Macy what are you going to do until August without Jason?"**

"Um, I don't know, get a boyfriend with an actual personality," Kristy shrugged smirking.

"We actual haven't heard his personality, he could be nice." I supplied, but I doubted it myself, if I was being honest.

"I high doubt it, more like he's ridiculously boring." Kristy snickered.

"**I don't know," I said. I was working at the library, taking over Jason's job at the information desk, but other than that, the next eight weeks were just looming a head empty.**

"maybe they are suited for each other her working at the library and all," Bert said.

"No she's just working his job to help him out, It sounds awful," Kristy frowned.

"Ummm," Agreed Monica.

**While I had a few friends from student council, most had gone away for the summer themselves, to Europe or camp.**

"Aw, so her crowd has money, figures," Kristy said shrugging.

**To be honest Jason's and my relationship was pretty time consuming: between Yoga classes and student government stuff, not to mention all the classes we dealt with, there just hadn't been much time left for anyone else.**

"So they only do stuff he wants, that probably not good, and you shouldn't really have to work that hard to maintain a relationship," Delia said. I couldn't really say anything to that, seeing as I had my own complicated relationship.

**Besides, Jason got easily frustrated with people, so I'd been hesitant to invite new people out with us. **

"He seems really controlling," Delia frowned.

**If they were slow, or lazy in any way, he lost patience fast, and it was just easier to out with him, or with his friends, who could keep up with him.**

"I doubt there's anyone who can keep up with that guy," Bert muttered.

**I'd never really thought about this as a bad thing, actually. It just how he we were. On the way to the airport, Jason and his dad discussed some elections that just happened in Europe; his mom fretted about construction traffic; and I sat there, looking at the inch between Jason knee and mine and wondering why I didn't try to move closer.**

"Don't tell me she's not even allowed to touch him!" Kristy said in disgusted shock

"Maybe just not in front of his parents," Delia supplied, but even she looked a little shocked. I idly thought about Becky she would have been all over me whether her family was there or not. But I couldn't really compare the two so I just shook my head and banished the thought.

**This wasn't new. He hadn't even kissed me until our third date,**

"You've got to be kidding me?" Kristy looked like she about to go find the guy and curse him out.

**And now, after a year and a half, we still hadn't discussed going all the way.**

"Oh wow, did not need to hear that," Bert laughed, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

"I can't believe it why is she with him at all," Kristy shivered.

"And exactly how far have you gone with a guy Kristy?" Delia huffed motherly at her.

Kristy blushed but shook her head, "This isn't about me, and I'm just saying most guys would have jumped her by now."

Bert shrugged, "Maybe she's ugly."

"I doubt it, Mr. Perfect would not be with and ugly girl he'd be with a trophy he could show off," Kristy sneered.

"Donneven," Monica said effectively ending the conversation.

**At the time we met, someone just hugging me felt like too much to bear. I didn't want anyone to get too close. So this had been all I wanted, a boy who understood how I felt. Now though, I sometimes wished for more.**

"Who wouldn't? " Kristi said.

**At the airport, we said goodbye at the gate. His parents hugged him, and then discreetly walked across the waiting room to stand at the window there, looking at the runway and the big stretch of sky that hung over it. I put my arms around Jason, breathing in his smell-sport stick deodorant and acne cleanser-**

"Why would you want to breath that in, it sounds grows," Bert said, I had to agree.

**Deeply, so I'd get enough to last me a while. "I'm going to miss you," I told him, "so much." "It's only eight weeks," He said.**

"Why? I just don't get it, why date him?" Kristy said looking mystified.

"If it works for her that all that matters," I said shrugging. People said the same thing about me and Becky; I can't really judge anyone's relationship.

**He kissed me on the forehead. Then, quickly, so quickly I didn't even have time to react, on the lips. He leaned back and looked at me, tightening his arms around my waist.**

"That's it, he's going to be gone for eight weeks, and that all he gives her," Kristy looked confused for a second before she laughed, "Maybe he's secretly gay, that would sense."

"Kristy," Delia sounded exasperated.

"**I'll email you," he said, and kissed me on the forehead again. As they called his fight and he disappeared down the hallway to the plane, I stood with the Talbots and watch him go, feeling a tug in my chest. It was going to be a long summer. I wanted a real kiss, something to remember,**

"Ha, even she's disappointed," Kristy smirked to Delia.

"But she's not thinking he's Gay, Kristi," Delia rolled her eyes, "Not that anything is wrong if he is." Delia looked like she might be considering that as an option for his weird behavior herself.

**But I long ago decided not to be picky about farewells.**

"Oh no, I was hoping it wasn't going to be like that," Delia slumped back in her seat.

"I knew it would be," I sighed, it just sounded so much like what I went through, people don't just go through that for stupid reasons.

**They weren't guaranteed or promised. You were lucky, more than blessed, if you got a good bye at all.**

"Yes you are," I agreed. I didn't get one, It kills me that I wasn't there for my mom or Bert for that matter, When she was sick, and that she had to die.

**My dad died. And I was there.**

Everyone in the room was silent. It so horrible when your someone you love died and there's nothing you can do to help them. No matter if you'd willing give your life to be able to. I put my head down.

"Do you want to take a break," Kristy asked quietly. I looked at the book a second.

"No, keep going, I'm fine," I wanted to hear what happened, I felt sorry for the girl. Whoever she was.

**This is how people knew me. Not as Macy Queen,**

"Oh My God!" Kristy jumped from her seat into a standing position.

"That was the girl who helped us last night," Delia said in shock.

I was utterly confused, "I thought it said it was about someone I cared about, I feel sorry for her, yeah, but I don't really know her at all, I don't get it."

"Well technically," Bert smiled smugly, "the note said, or someone who _will_ be important to you."

"Exactly," Kristy said, I wanted to laugh at their hopeful expressions.

"This is not, and I repeat, NOT about my love life, I'm with Becky," I said with an easy calm smile.

"Then what do _you_ think it means, if not that," Kristy challenged. I didn't have an answer.

"Maybe we'll be friends?" I said, it sounded like a question. "I don't know let just keep reading."

"Of course," Kristy was really beginning to annoy me.

**Daughter of Deborah, who built pretty houses in brand new cul-de-sacs.**

"it's true that house last night in that neighborhood was beautiful," Delia Marveled, "I can't believe she designed all those."

**Or a sister of Caroline, who'd had just about the most beautiful wedding anyone had ever seen at the Lakeview Inn the previous summer. Not even as the one-time holder of the record for the fifty-yard dash, middle school division.**

"Wow," I said shocked, "she's a runner, and a really good one." I run too, but I've never held any records.

"Someone's interested," Kristy smiled. I gritted my teeth, this is ridiculous.

**Nope. I was Macy Queen, who'd woken up the day after Christmas and gone outside to see her father splayed out at the end of the road, a stranger pumping away at his broad chest. I saw my dad die. That's who I was now.**

"That's horrible, and it happen the day after Christmas," Delia looked like she was ready to cry. Bert pushed his seat closer to Delia's and took her hand; she flashed him a tired smile.

"It sounds like a heart attack or stroke, "I sighed.

"it's terrible that she had to be there," Kristy said sadly. I nodded my head in agreement.

"Mmmm," Monica agreed.

**When people first heard this, or saw me and remembered it, they always made that face. The one with the sad look, accompanied by the cock of the head to the side and the softening of the chin**_**- oh my goodness, you poor thing.**_

"I hate that look, I hated it when it was given to me and I hate it, when I hear about it," I huffed.

**While it was usually well intended, to me it was just a reaction of muscles and tendons that meant nothing. Nothing at all. I hated that face. I saw it everywhere. **

"I know exactly how you feel," I whispered angrily.

**The first time was at the hospital. I was sitting in a plastic chair by the drink machine. When my mother walked out of the small waiting room, the one off the main one. I already knew this was where they took people to tell them really bad news: that their wait was over, their person was dead.**

I heard Delia whimper quietly, yes we knew very well where that room was. And we also knew she was correct in her judgment of it.

**In fact, I had just watched another family make this progression, the ten or so steps and the turn of a corner, crossing over from hopeful to hopeless. As my mother-no the latter-came toward me, I knew. And behind her there was this plump nurse holding a chart, and she saw me standing there in my track pants and baggy sweatshirt, my old smelly running shoes, and she made the face**_**. Oh, poor dear**_**. Then though, I had no idea how it would follow me.**

"It sort of sneaks up on you that way," I heard Bert mutter. I sighed again wishing I was there more for him. I was his big brother and I let him down.

**I saw The face at the funeral, everywhere. It was the common mask on people clumped on the steps, sitting quietly murmuring in pews, shooting me sideways looks that I could feel, even as I kept my head down, my eyes on the solid black of my tights, the scuffs on my shoes. Beside me, my sister Caroline sobbed: through the service, as we walked down the aisle, in the limo, at the cemetery, at the reception afterward. She cried so much it seemed wrong for me to, even if I could have. For anyone else to join in was just overkill.**

"She never dealt with it," Kristy sighed, "Bottled it in and never faced her dads death, no wonders she dating that guy, he's probably the only thing keeping her together with his control freak ways."

"Actually I agree," Delia said, "I sort of getting now, she needed control over her emotions and he's always in control, and she said before she was hoping he would fix her like he fixes everything."

**I hated that I was in this situation, I hated that my dad was gone, I hated that I'd been lazy and sleepy and had waved him off when he'd come to my room that morning, wearing his smelly Waccamaw 5k shirt, leaning down to my ear to whisper.**_** Macy, wake up. I give you a head start. Come on, you know the first few steps are the hardest part.**_

"She remembered it word for word," Delia whispered.

"You can't help it, it's ingrained," I said quietly ignoring their stares at me.

**I hated that it had been not two or three but five minutes later that I'd changed my mind, getting up to dig out my track pants and lace my shoes. I hated that I wasn't faster on those three-tenths of a mile, that by the time I got to him he was already gone, unable to hear my voice, see my face, so that I could say all the things I wanted to. I might have been the girl whose dad died, the girl who was there, and everyone might have known it. But the fact that I was angry and scared, that was my secret to keep. They didn't have that, too. It was all mine.**

"I hope she doesn't blame herself," Kristy said suddenly.

"I think a part of her always will," I shrugged, certain I was right. At least, it was right for how I felt anyway.

**When I got home from the Talbot's, there was a box on the porch. As soon as I leaned over and saw the return address, I knew what it was. "Mom?" My voice bounced down the empty front hall as I came inside, bumping the door shut behind me. In the dining room, I could see fliers stacked around several floral arrangements, everything all set for the cocktail reception my mother was hosting that night. **

"Oh wow, this is really creepy, It's like were going be in her head for last night," Kristy shivered.

"I am a bit surprised, it's sad that she dealing with all this right now," Delia looked at the book with sad eyes, "I knew something seemed a bit down with her last night."

"I wish I could help her out," Kristy sighed.

I rolled my eyes, "You would just tell her to dump her boyfriend."

"That's not all I would say," Kristy Huffed dramatically.

**The newest phase of her neighborhood, luxury townhouses, was just starting construction, and she had sales to make. Which meant she was in full-out schmooze mode, a fact made clear by the sign over the mantel featuring her smiling face and slogan: **_**Queen Homes- Let's Us build Your Castle.**_

"I kinda liked the slogan, it was catchy," Delia smiled.

"Me too, plus the house was amazing," I smiled back happier that we were back to a lighter mood.

**I put the box on the Kitchen island, right in the center, then walked to the fridge and poured myself a glass of orange juice. I drank it all down, rinsed the cup, and put it in the dishwasher. But it didn't matter how I busied myself. The entire time, I was aware of the box perched there waiting for me. There was nothing to do but just get it over with.**

"What's so important about some box?" Smirked Kristy. I just shrugged in response.

**I pulled a pair of scissors out of the island drawer, and then drew them across the top of the box, splitting the line of tight brown packaging tape. The return address, like all the others was Waterville, Maine.**

"What would you get from there?" Bert frowned.

"If you would be quiet, then we'll all know," Kristy smiled politely.

"Oh, don't give me that, you make more comments than all of us put together," Bert muttered. Kristi stuck her tongue out at him; sometimes they act like there five years old, I swear. I groaned and motioned for Kristy to keep reading.

_**Dear Mr. Queen**_

"Oh no it's something for her dad," Delia frowned.

_**As one of our valued EZ products customers,**_

"Oh, I used to love that stuff," I said. I was just watching a commercial for one of their products this afternoon. The Magic Key Ring, it made me smile to think of it.

"What is it?" Delia asked.

"Their this cheesy company, that make those infomercial products, that are always coming on TV," Bert shrugged.

"I can't believe her dad bought those," Kristy griminced.

_**Please find enclosed our latest innovation for your perusal. We feel assured that you'll find it will become as important and time-saving a part of your daily life as the many other products you've purchased from us over the years. **_

"How many had he purchased?" Delia muttered.

_**If, however, for some reason you're not completely satisfied, return it within thirty days and your account will not be charged. Thank you again for your patronage. If you have any questions, feel free to contact our friendly customer service staff at the number below. It's for people like you that we work to make daily life better, more productive, and most of all, easy. It's not just a name: it's a promise.**_

_**Most cordially,**_

_**Walter F. Tempest**_

_**President, EZ products**_

"Wow, that was, wow," Bert mumbled.

"I wonder what they got," I asked.

**I scooped out Styrofoam peanuts, piling them neatly next to the box, until I found the package inside. It had two pictures on the front. In the first one, a woman was standing at a kitchen counter with about twenty rolls of tinfoil and waxed paper stacked in front of her. She had a frustrated expression on her face, like she was about two breaths away from some sort of breakdown. In the picture beside it, the woman was at the same counter. Gone were the boxes, replaced instead by a plastic console that was attached to the wall. From it, she was pulling some plastic wrap, now sporting the beatific look usually associated with madonnas or people on heavy medication.**

"Is anybody else confused?" Bert laughed.

"You're always confused you know," I smirked at him. He through a placemat at me.

_**Are you tired of dealing with the mess of so many kinds of foil and wrap? Sick of fumbling through messy drawers or cabinets? Get the Neat Wrap and you'll have what you need within easy reach. With convenient slots for sandwich and freezer bags, tinfoil and waxed paper; you'll never have to dig through a drawer again. It's all there, right at your fingertips!**_

"cool," Bert said with a dreamy smile.

"We're not getting it Bert, let the dream die," I smirked over at him.

"But we sure could use some more organization," Delia sighed, but couldn't hold it as she thought of all our crazy mishaps she laughed.

**I put the box down, running my finger over edge. It's funny what it takes to miss someone. A packed funeral, endless sympathy cards, a reception full of murmuring voices, I could handle. But every time a box came from Maine, it broke my heart.**

"I can only imagine," I murmured, it reminded me of my mom's lists. It's weird what me and her have in common.

**My dad loved this stuff: he was a sucker for anything that claimed to make life simpler. This, mixed with a tendency to insomnia, was a lethal combination. He'd be downstairs, going over contracts or firing off emails late into the night, with the TV on in the background, and then an infomercial would come on. He'd be sucked in immediately,**

"Why does he sound so familiar," I mused out loud. Trying in vain to think of where I had heard that last name before.

"I know exactly what you mean, I've been trying to figure it out too," Bert said with a frustrated huff.

**First by the happy, forced banter between the host and the gadget designer, then by the demonstration, followed by the bonus gifts, just for ordering Right Now, by which point he was already digging out his credit card with one hand as he dialed with the other.**

"He sounds like he was a sweet man," Delia sighed looking tired. Then again she was eight months pregnant she always looked tired.

"**I'm telling you," he'd say to me, all jazzed up with that pre-purchase enthusiasm," that's what I call innovation." And to him it, it was: The Jumbo Holiday Greeting Card Pack he bought my mother (which covered every holiday from Kwanzaa to Solstice, with not a single Christmas card),**

"Wow, now I'm glad we didn't order that stuff," I said laughing.

**And the plastic contraption that looked like a small bear trap and promised the perfect French Twist, which we later had to cut out of my hair.**

"Well it would have been awesome," Kristy said dreamily, "If it had worked that is."

**Never mind that the rest of us had long ago soured on EZ products: my father was not dissuaded by our cynicism. He loved the **_**potential**_**, the possibility that there, in his eager hands, was the answer to one of life's questions. **

"He sounds like someone else we know," Kristy said, throwing a glance at Bert.

"What?" Bert said oblivious as usual.

**Not "Why are we here?" or "Is there a God?" These were queries people had been circling for eons. But if the question was, "Does there exist a toothbrush that also functions as a mouth washer?"**

"Eww, that is so gross, please tell me they don't really have that," Kristy shivered.

"Unfortunately, they do," I replied shrugging. Kristy shuddered lightly but kept reading.

**The answer was clear: Yes. Oh, yes. "Come look at this!" he'd say, with an enthusiasm that, while not exactly contagious, was totally endearing. That was the thing about my dad. He could make anything seem like a good time. **

"No wonder she's so hurt she was so close to him," Delia looked ready to cry again, "it must have been like losing a parent and a best friend."

I frowned, that's exactly how I felt about losing my mom. I was being to feel truly connected to this Macy girl, and that weird for me. I shook my head and listened to Kristy.

"**See," he'd explain, putting the coasters cut from sponges/ talking pocket memo recorder/ coffeemaker with remote- control on-off switch in front of you, "this is a great idea. I mean most people wouldn't even think you could come up with something like this!"**

"Why would you want to?" Kristy said shaking her head.

**Out of necessity, if nothing else, I'd perfected my reaction-a wow-look-at-that face, pair with an enthusiastic nod-at a young age.**

Everyone laughed. "The same thing we do with Bert and his end of the world craziness," Kristy howled with more laughter.

"Hey, it's important," Bert huffed finally catching on. He shot Kristy a glare when she started reading.

**My sister, the drama queen, could not even work up a good fake smile, instead just shaking her head and saying, "Oh, dad, why do you buy all that crap, anyway?" As for my mother, she tried to be a good sport, putting away her top-end coffeemaker for the new remote control one, at least until we realized- after waking up to the smell of coffee at three A.M.- that it was getting interference from the baby monitor next door and brewing spontaneously.**

More laughter ensued, "Her dad seems really sweet, poor man, and his wife seems like a good woman, I don't know if I could have given up my coffeemaker." Delia gigged and got up to go to the bathroom. We took a break and waited for her. I couldn't believe all the stuff me and this Macy had in common. It was kind of weird, but comforting in the same way. When Delia came back we continued.

**She even tolerated the tissue dispenser he installed on the visor of her BMW (**_**never risk an accident reaching for a Kleenex again!**_**) even when it dislodged while she was on the highway, bonking her on the forehead and almost hurling her into oncoming traffic.**

"That would be the end of him buying those products if it were my husband," Kristy chuckled.

"I feel sorry for your husband," Bert smirked. Kristy rolled her eyes and ultimately ignored him.

**When my dad died, we all reacted in different ways. My sister seemed to take on our cumulative emotional reaction: she cried so much she seemed to be shriveling right in front of our eyes.**

"So basically, she was the only one who grieved," Kristy stated, to no one in particular.

**I sat quiet, silent, angry, refusing to grieve, because it seemed like to do so it would be giving everyone what they wanted.**

"it seems that way at first doesn't it?" I asked, mostly to myself. It had felt that way to me anyway then I just let myself feel it, I let go.

**My mother began to organize. Two days after the funeral, she was moving through the house with buzzing intensity, the energy coming off her palpable enough to set your teeth chattering. I stood in my bedroom door, watching as she ripped through our linen closet, tossing out all the nubby wash clothes and old twin sheets that fit beds we'd long ago given away. In the kitchen, anything that didn't match- the lone jelly jar glass, one freebie plate commemorating Christmas at Cracker Barrel-**

"They didn't really have Christmas there, did they?" Bert asked amused by the thought.

"I hope not," Delia muttered, "her poor mom seems to be working herself to death trying to forget, I hope she starts to get better soon. Now that I think about it, she seemed off at the party the other night too, poor thing."

**Was tossed, clanking and breaking its way into the trash bag she dragged behind her from room to room, until it was too full to budge. Nothing was safe. I came home from school one day to find that my closet had been organized, rifled through, clothes I hadn't worn in a while just gone. **

"that would be terrible, I would be afraid to go to school," Kristy flinched.

"I can never do that with our stuff," I murmured to Bert. He nodded his head in agreement.

**It was becoming clear to me that I shouldn't bother to get too attached to0 anything. Turn your back and you lose it. Just like that. The EZ stuff was among the last to go. On Saturday morning about a week after the funeral, she was up at six A.M., piling things in the driveway for Goodwill. By nine, she had emptied out most of the garage: the old treadmill, lawn chairs, and boxes of her never used Christmas ornaments. As much as I'd been worried about her as she went on this tear, I was even more concerned about what would happen when she was all done, and the only mess left was us.**

"I can only imagine, god that whole thing had to have been a nightmare," Kristy whispered quietly. I agreed, I couldn't even imagine throwing out all of our stuff including moms, getting rid of her lists that I found every now and then, it would be far too heartbreaking even for me, not to mention Bert.

**I walked across the grass to the driveway, sidestepping a stack of paint cans. "All of this going?" I asked, as she bent down over a box of stuffed animals. "Yes," she said. "If you want to claim anything, better do it now." I looked across these various artifacts of my childhood. A pink bike with a white seat. A broken plastic sled, some life jackets from the boat we'd sold years ago. None of it meant anything, and all of it was important. I had no idea what to take.**

"That's terrible, her mom's getting rid of their entire childhood," Delia squealed.

"I think she just trying to get rid of things that remind her of good times and her husband," Kristy shrugged sadly.

**Then I saw it the EZ box. At the top, balled up and stuffed in the corner, was the self-heating hand towel my dad had considered a Miracle of Science only a few weeks earlier. I picked it up carefully, squeezing the fabric between my fingers. "Oh, Macy." My mother, the stuffed animal box in her arms, frowned at me. A giraffe I vaguely remembered as belonging to my sister was poking out the top. "You don't want that stuff, honey. It's junk."**

"That may be true but her dad had loved it, so of course she wants to keep it," Delia smiled.

"**I know," I said, looking down at the towel. The Goodwill guys showed up then, beeping the horn as they pulled into the driveway. My mother waved them in, and then walked over to point out various piles. As they conferred, I wondered how many times a day they went to people's houses to take things away-if it was different when it was after a death, or if junk was junk, and they couldn't even tell.**

"They probably can't tell anymore, after all the stuff they have to collect they probably don't pay much attention to the differences, if there's any, anymore," I shrugged, I was glad I never found out honestly. They had all of my mother, wishes, stuff in storage, and here at the house.

"**Make sure you get it all," my mother called over her shoulder as she stared across the grass. The two guys went over to the treadmill, each of them picking up and end. "I have a donation . . . just let me get my checkbook." As she went inside I stood there for a second, the guys loaded up things from all around me. They were making a last trip for the Christmas tree when one of them, a shorter guy with red hair, nodded towards the box at my feet. "That, too?" He asked.**

"I don't think so," Bert muttered.

**I was about to tell him yes. Then I looked at the towel and the box with all the other crap in it, and remembered how excited my dad was when each of them arrived, how I could always hear him coming down the hallway, pausing by the dining room, the den, the kitchen, just looking for someone to share his discovery with. I was always so happy when it was me. "No," I said as I leaned over and picked up the box. "This one's mine."**

"Told you," Bert said smugly but still a little sad.

"No one doubted you," Kristy glowered, "but, she's going to have to find a way to hide them from her mom."

**I took it up to my room, then dragged the desk chair over to my closet and climbed up. There was a panel above the top shelf that opened into the attic, and I slid it open and pushed the box into darkness. With my dad gone, we had assumed our relationship with EZ products was over. But then, about a month after the funeral, another package showed up, a combination pen/pocket stapler. We figured he'd ordered it right before the heart attack, his final purchase-until next month, when a decorative rock/sprinkler arrived.**

"They're not getting charged for that, are they?" Delia's eyes were wide in concern.

**When my mother called to complain, the customer service person apologized profusely. Because of my father's high buying volume, she explained, he had been bumped to Golden Circle level, which meant that he received a new product every month to peruse, no obligation to buy. They'd take him off the list, absolutely, no problem. **

"I doubt they really did," I chuckled. Kristy shook her head in agreement.

**But the stuff kept coming, every month, just like clockwork, even after we canceled the credit card they had on file.**

"Hey, I would just enjoy it," Bert smiled dreamily chuckling.

"We know you would," Delia laughed at his expression the softened, looking back at the book, "but it's probably torturing they family with memories of their father."

"Oh, right," Bert said looking down.

**I had my own theory on this, one I shared, like some much else, with no one.**

"I can't imagine not having anyone to talk to about mom," Bert said sadly.

"I know honey, she really needs to talk to someone, maybe I'll call her," Delia mused quietly.

"Good luck trying to explain how you know anything about it," Kristy muttered.

"Actually, you could just tell her, if she needed someone to talk to, your here," I offered. Delia nodded lost in thought rubbing her stomach.

**My dad had died the day after Christmas, when all the gifts had already been put into use or away. He'd given my mom a diamond bracelet, my sister a mountain bike, but when it was my turn, he'd given me a sweater, a couple CD's, and an I.O.U written on gold paper in his messy scrawl. **_**More to come,**_** it had said, and he nodded as he read the words, reassuring me. **_**Soon.**_** "it's late, but it's special," he'd said to me. "You'll love it."**

"I wonder what he got her." Bert mused. Again, this nagged me to no end, it seemed so familiar. Everything about her dad seemed so familiar. Why couldn't I place him?

**I knew it was true. I would love it, because my dad just knew me, knew what made me happy. My mother claimed when I was little I cried anytime my dad was out of sight, that I was often inconsolable if anyone but he made my favorite meal, the bright orange macaroni-and –cheese mix they sold at the grocery store three for a dollar. But it was more than just emotional stuff. Sometimes, I swear, it was like we were on the same wavelength. **

Bert smiled over at me, and I smiled back at him. Wish, their mother, had been the exact same way, always knew there was something wrong, when to help, and how to make them smile.

**Even that last day, when he'd given up trying to rouse me from bed, I's spent those five minutes later as if something had summoned me. Maybe, by then, his chest was already hurting. I'd never know.**

"She needs to forgive herself for that, it wasn't her fault she couldn't have known," I said quietly.

"I know," Delia said looking at me sadly.

**In those first few days after he was gone, I kept thinking back to that I.O.U., wondering what it was he'd picked out for me. And even though I was pretty sure it wasn't an EZ Product, it felt strangely soothing when things from Waterville, Maine, kept arriving, as though some part of him was still reaching out to me, keeping his promise.**

I smiled at that, my mom's lists were soothing too, like she was still here. Giving me secret shopping and cleaning tasks. I chuckled under my breath.

**So each time my mother tossed the boxes, I'd fish them out and bring them upstairs to add to my collection. I never used any of the products, choosing instead to just believe the breathless claims on the boxes. There were a lot of ways to remember my dad. But I thought he would have especially liked that.**

"I do too," Delia whispered.

"That's the end of the chapter," Kristy smiled.

"I think I will read now," I said taking the book in my hands, I wanted to feel closer to her and I didn't know why.

"Can we take another break," Bert inquired, "My butts going numb for sitting in this chair for an hour."

"Yeah let's take a break, I have to use the restroom anyway and then we can move to the living room," Delia said rising gently and moving back towards the bathroom.

"Pregnant." Me and Kristy smirked in unison. Then laughed at each other for saying it at the same time.

**Author's side note:**

_**This was way more challenging than I thought, but equally as fun! I think Because of the length of Sarah Dessen's chapters, it will take about three days a chapter. (I am in college, and there for, have paper's to write, and assignments to do, and oh yeah, classes ;)! ) So if you would be patient with me please I would really love it to continue. Thank you for all the views, and Please review and tell me your thoughts. I know Monica is not in the responses much, but she is a monotone, so I'm not exactly sure how to include her in the story just yet. I'm working on it, thanks and as always, enjoy!**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do **Not** own _The Truth about Forever_ or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.

Chapter 3

**Chapter 2:** Wes read.

**My mother had called me once ("Macy, honey, people are starting to arrive") and then twice ("Macy? Honey?") but still I was in front of the mirror, parting and reparting my hair.**

"Urg, she's like you Kristy, you take forever to leave the house," Bert groaned leaning into the couch. They had relocated to the couch to finish reading the book. Everyone let Delia have the comfy arm chair, she needed it more than they did.

"You can't rush quality." Kristy smiled smugly at him.

"What quality," Bert muttered.

"Can we read please," Wes interrupted. _**(no he's not referring to himself in the third person, it is no longer in his POV)**_

**No matter how many times I swiped at it with my comb, it still didn't look right.**

"I thought her hair looked fine last night," Bert shrugged.

"Oh, were you checkin' her out," Kristy wagged her eyebrows.

"No," Bert rolled his eyes. Wes smirked at his tell-tale blush.

**Once, I didn't care so much about appearances. I knew the basics: that I was somewhat short for my age, with a round face, brown eyes, and faint freckles across my nose that had been prominent, but now you had to lean in close to see. I had blonde hair that got lighter in the summer time, slightly green if I swam too much, which didn't bother me since I was a total track rat, the kind of girl to whom the word **_**hairstyle**_** was defined as always having a ponytail elastic on her wrist.**

"Urg, there is so much I have to teach her," Kristy frowned at the book.

"I'm sure she doesn't need your help," Wes smirked at her.

"You're as bad as Bert, were you both checking her out last night?" Kristy chuckled.

"No," Wes and Bert said at the same time.

"I just meant she probably won't take it," Wes huffed, Let just get back to the book, please!"

"Go ahead," Kristy smirked back at him, "Please continue."

**I'd never cared about how my body or I looked-what mattered was what it could do and how fast it could go.**

Wes smiled, he wasn't into appearances either, and they were superficial. All he cared about was what his hands could do, and how fast he could ran as well. It was eerie how much they had in common.

"Aren't you supposed to be reading ," Kristy said smugly, Bringing Wes back to reality, reminding him he was in a room full of people now snickering at him.

**But part of my new perfect act was my appearance. If I wanted people to see me as calm and collected, together, I had to look the part. It took work. Now, my hair had to be just right, lying flat in all places. If my skin was not cooperating, I bargained with it, applying concealer and a slight layer of foundation, smoothing out all the red marks and dark circles. I could spend a full half hour**

"Ha, are you kidding me, you can't do anything in only a half hour," Kristy rolled her eyes.

"Normal people can," Bert smirked at her.  
><strong>getting the shadowing just right on my eyes, curling and recurling my eyelashes, making sure each was lifted and separated as the mascara wand moved over them, darkening, thickening. I moisturized. I flossed. I stood up straight. I was fine.<strong>

"Sounds like she made herself a robot," Delia muttered.

"**Macy?" My mother's voice, firm and cheery, floated up the stairs. I pulled the comb through my hair, then stepped back from the mirror, letting it fall into the part again. Finally: Perfect. And just in time. When I came downstairs, my mother was standing by the door, greeting a couple who was just coming in with her selling smile: confident but not off-putting, welcoming but not kiss-ass. Like me my mother put great stock in her appearance. In real estate, as in high school, it could make or break you.**

"Which is why I would never be in real estate," Wes said rolling his eyes.

"Why?" Kristy smirked, "If it was all about appearances you would be rich by now."

Wes glowered at her and continued reading. He did not care about looks, not in the least.

"**There you are," she said, turning around as I came down the stairs." I was getting worried." "Hair issues," I told her, as another couple came up the front walk. "What can I do?" She glanced into the living room, where a group of people were peering at a design of the new townhouses that was tacked up on the wall. My mother always had these cocktail parties when she needed to sell, believing the best way to assure to convince people she could build their dream home was to show off her own. It was a good gimmick, even if it did mean having strangers traipsing through our downstairs.**

"That would be weird," Bert muttered.

"But she's right it's a good tactic," Delia nodded, "with a house as beautiful as theirs, I would buy anything she was selling." We all laughed quietly.

"**If you could make sure the caterers have everything they need,**

"Oh good we're in the story now," Kristy jumped smiling at the book with excitement.

"This already happened you don't have to be excited," Delia chuckled.

**She said to me now, "that would be great. And if it looks like we are running low on brochures, go out and get another box from the garage." She paused to smile at a couple as they crossed the foyer. "Oh," she said, "and if anyone looks like they are looking for a bathroom-" "Point them towards it graciously and with the utmost subtlety," I finished. Bathroom detail/directions were, in fact, my specialty. **

"That's a little weird," Kristy frowned.

"I'm guessing after doing this sort of thing for a while, it's not so weird after long," Delia shrugged.

"**Good girl," she said, as a women in a pants suit came up the walk. "Welcome!" my mother called out, pushing the door open wider. "I'm Deborah Queen. Please come in. I'm so glad you could make it!" My mother didn't know this person, of course. But part of selling was treating everyone like a familiar face.**

"Can you say, creepy?" Bert sang laughing.

"That would be really awkward," Kristy laughed too.

"**Well, I just love this neighborhood," The woman said as she stepped over the threshold. "I noticed you were putting up some new town houses, so I thought I'd . . ." "Let me show you a floor plan. Did you see that all the units come with two car garages? You know, a lot of people don't even realize how much difference a heated garage can make." And with that, my mother was off and running. Hard to believe that once smoozing was as painful to her as multiple root canals.**

"That is hard to believe, she seemed comfortable," Kristy shrugged.

"Well, sometimes you have to do annoying things, if you want to eat," Delia said.

"I guess, but I would want to do something I like too," Bert mused.

"And I hope you do." Delia smiled over at him.

**But when you had to do something, you had to do it. And eventually, if you were lucky, you did it well. Queen Homes, which my dad started right out of college as a one-man trim carpenter operation, already had a good business reputation when he met my mother. Actually, he hired her. She was fresh out of college with an accounting degree, and his finances were in shambles. She'd come in, waded through his paper work and receipts (many of which were on bar napkins and matchbooks),**

"Urg, guys are so lazy," Kristy groaned, "they always needed and woman to come in and fix everything."

Delia laughed, "And it only gets worse with age."

Me and Bert looked at each other and rolled our eyes. I was anything but lazy and so was Bert for that matter. But there would be no point in trying to argue.

"Bettaquit," Accept if you're a monotone, no one can argue with you.

**Handled a close call with the IRS (he'd "forgotten" about his taxes a few years earlier), and gotten him into the black again. Somewhere in the midst of all of it, they fell in love. They were a perfect business team: he was all charm and fun everyone's favorite guy to buy a beer. My mother was happy busying herself with file folders and The Bigger Picture. Together, they were unstoppable.**

Everyone sighed at that, knowing they must have really loved each other. And knowing her mother lost her husband, business partner, and best friend.

**Wildflower Ridge, our neighborhood, had been my mother's vision. They'd done small subdivisions and spec houses, but this would be an entire neighborhood, with houses and townhouses and apartments, a little business district, everything all enclosed and fitted around a common green space.**

"Wow, that what I call a million dollar idea." Wes said in awe.

"And it looks like she's really doing it, not just talking about it, like most people would," Kristy added.

**A return to communities, my mother had said. The wave of the future. My dad wasn't sold at first.**

"Why? I thought he loved innovation and people with potential, " Kristy huffed.

Wes shrugged and kept reading.

**But he was getting older, and his body was tired. This way he could move into a supervisory position and let someone else swing the hammers. So he agreed. Two months later, they were breaking ground on the first house: ours. They worked in tandem, my parents, meeting potential clients at the model home. My dad would run through the basic spiel, tweaking it depending on what sort of people they were: he's play up the southern charm for the Northerners, talked NASCAR and barbeque with the locals. He was knowledgeable, trustworthy. Of course you wanted him to build your house. Hell, you wanted him to build to be your best friend.**

They all laughed quietly, but halfheartedly, they knew she was working up to his death. And, after hearing how great he was, it made it that much harder for everyone to accept. Wes still couldn't place where he had heard of him before, it was just too familiar.

**The houses sold like crazy. It was everything my mother said it would be. Until it wasn't. I knew she blamed herself for his death, thought that maybe it was the added stress of Wildflower Ridge that taxed my dad heart,**

"That's not fair, there are many things that can contribute to heart attacks, it wasn't her fault," Delia sighed sadly, " She shouldn't blame herself."

"Yeah, and it sounds like he might have had one earlier, if her mom hadn't got him off the frontline when she did." Kristy agreed.

"Right now I think they just need a reason, and both of them are willing to take the blame," I shrugged sadly.

**And if she hadn't pushed him to expand so much everything would be different. This was our common ground, the secret we shared but never spoke out loud. I should have been with him; she should have left him alone. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. It's so easy in the past tense. But here in the present,**

"it's not easy in the past tense or present," Wes and Bert muttered together. No one looked at them this time, just let them get their feeling out.

**My mother and I had no choice but to move ahead. We worked hard, me at school, her at outselling other builders. We parted our hair cleanly and stood up straight, greeting company-and the world-with the smiles we practiced in the quiet of our now-too-big dream house full of mirrors that showed the smiles back.**

"That sounds so cold," Kristy whispered quietly.

"I know, I couldn't imagine living like that, and she seemed so relaxed, a little shy, but still," Delia sighed, "I would never have guessed she lived like this."

"I think that's the point," Wes commented.

**But under it all, our grief remained. Sometimes she took more of it, sometimes I did. But always, it was there. I had just finished directing an irate woman with a red wine stain on her shirt to the powder room-one of the catering staff had apparently bumped into her, splashing her cabernet across her outfit-**

"Bert!" Delia yelled exasperated.

"I know, I'm sorry," He muttered into a pillow.

**When I noticed the stack of flyers on the foyer table was looking a bit low. Grateful for the excuse to escape, I slipped outside.**

Bert and Wes were cramming their fist into their mouths, in a vain attempt to stifle their laughter, at what was about to happen.

Delia and Kristy were shooting both boys glares from across the room. While Monica looked vaguely at the book with blank interest.

**I went down the front walk, cutting around the caterer's van in the driveway. The sun had just gone down, the sky pink and orange behind the line of trees that separated us from the apartments one phase over. Summer was just starting. Once that had meant early tract practice and long afternoons at the pool perfecting my backflip. **

"Ooh, sounds like fun," Kristi smiled.

"She said "Once that Meant" meaning past tense," Wes reminded her. She pouted and slumped back in her seat.

**This summer, though, I was working. Jason had been at the library information desk since he was fifteen, long enough to secure a reputation as the Guy Who Knew Everything.**

"That's not hard to believe," Kristy muttered groaning.

**Patrons of the Lakeview Branch had gotten accustomed to him doing everything from finding that obscure book on Catherine the Great to fixing the library computers when they crashed. They loved him for the same reason I did: He had all the answers.**

"So she in love with him," Kristy said surprised, "I still don't fully get why."

Wes didn't know why that bothered him so much, he actually felt kind of disappointed, and completely deflated.

**He also had a cult following, particularly among his co-workers, who were both girls and both brilliant. They'd never taken kindly to me being Jason's girlfriend, seeing as how, in their eyes, I wasn't even close to their intellectual level, much less his.**

"That's completely ridiculous, they are probably just jealous, " Kristy smirked.

**I'd had a feeling that their acceptance of me as a sudden co-worker wouldn't be much warmer, and I was right. During my training, they snickered as he taught me the intricate ins and outs of the library search system, rolled their eyes in tandem when I asked a question about the card catalog.**

"Forget that, you couldn't pay me enough money to work there," Kristy grimaced.

**Jason hardly noticed, and when I pointed it out to him he got impatient, as if I was wasting his time.**

"Really, Why?" Kristy practically scream angrily, throwing her hands in the air, in a surrender.

The more Wes read, the more he truly did not get why she loved him, much less why she choose to keep dating him. Wes was almost as frustrated as Kristy.

**That's not what you should be worrying about, he said. Not knowing how to reference the tri-county library database quickly in the event of a system cash: now **_**that**_** would be a problem.**

"Dump him please, I'm begging you," Kristy whined.

"I concur," Bert said throwing up his hands, and letting them flop back to his legs.

**He was right, of course. He was always right. But I still wasn't looking forward to it. Once I was in the garage, I went to the shelves where my mom kept her work stuff, moving a stock of **For Sale **and **Model Open** signs aside to pull out another box of flyers. The front door of the house was open, and I could hear voices drifting over, party sounds, laughing, and glasses clinking. I hoisted up the box and cut off the overhead light. Then I headed back to the party. I was passing garbage cans when someone jumped out from the bushes. "Gotcha."**

"That's not funny," Delia huffed at Bert and Wes who were laughing hysterically at the book. "She could have refused to pay us for that stunt you two pulled on her daughter."

"Yeah idiots," Kristy hit Bert with a pillow but it was no use he was still laughing.

**I shrieked and dropped the box, which hit the ground with a thunk, spilling fliers sideways down the driveway.**

Wes and Bert just kept laughing, which made it hard to hear, since Wes was also reading at the time. 

**Say what you will, but you are never prepared for the surprise attack. It defines the very meaning of taking your breath away: I was gasping.**

That broke Kristy, she cracked up laughing into her hands.

"Not you too," Delia groaned trying to keep herself from laughing.

**For a second, it was very quiet. A car drove by. "Bert?" A voice came from down the driveway, by the catering van. "What are you doing?"**

"And Wes makes his grand entrance," Kristy clapped.

Wes just smile and gave a small bow.

"I wonder what she first thought of you," Bert chuckled. He wagged his eyebrows at Wes.

"Don't you start this too." Wes groaned, though he would be completely lying if he did not admit, he'd been thinking about that a little bit himself.

**Beside me, a bush rustled. "I'm . . ." a voice said hesitantly –and much more quietly- from somewhere within. "I'm scaring you. Aren't I?"**

Bert laughed, "I couldn't figure out why your voice was so far away, then I realized, that scream was much more high that Wes could ever go, I knew I was in trouble."

Delia glared at him, "You bet you were, I never punished you for that, you have to clean out the van next time."

"Ah, come on," Bert groaned, he walked over to Delia with his hands clamped together, begging. "Please don't make me?"

"Not a chance, and Wes can help you hose down after it's empty, then use a rag to dry it out," Delia wiped the smirk right off Wes's face. Earning Bert a smack to the head.

"Thanks a lot," Wes pouted.

**I heard footsteps, and a second later could make out a guy in a white shirt and black pants walking towards me up the driveway. He had a serving platter tucked under his arm. **

"He was also unbelievable sexy and seductive," Kristy murmured in that romance novel sexy voice.

"Seductive?" Wes rolled his eyes. Why everyone had this ridiculous image of him he would never know.

**As he got closer he squinted, making me out in the semi-dark. "Nope. Not me," He said**

"Really, that's all you say," uuh Nope. Not me", you're a dork sometimes Wes," Kristy rolled her eyes.

"What was I supposed to say, I was just as confused." Wes chuckled leaning his head back to avoid Delia's glare.

**Now that he was right in front of me, I could see that he was tall and had brown hair that was a bit too long.**

"Told you, you need a haircut," Kristy grip a bit of Wes's hair in her hands.

"My hair is fine," Wes shimmied out of Kristy reach. Delia and Bert just chuckled in the back ground.

"Bettaquit." Monica smirked.

**He was also strikingly handsome, with the sort of sculpted cheekbones and angular features that you couldn't help but notice, even if you did have a boyfriend.**

"Ha, is that a blush I see Wes, was someone checkin' her out too," Bert said, baiting Wes.

Wes said nothing, just looked intently at the book, but yes, he could feel the heat in his cheeks. He was blushing. Also ye he had been checking her out.

**To me he said, "You okay?" I nodded. My heart was still racing, but I was recovering. He stood there, studying the bush, then stuck his right hand into its center. **

"How did you know I was there?" Bert groaned annoyed.

"Well, I could make out your big head in the middle so I figured that's the part of the bush you were in." Wes snickered.

**A second later, he pulled another guy, this one shorter and chunkier but dressed identically, out through the foliage. He had the same dark eyes and hair, but looked younger. His face bright red.**

"Hey! I am NOT chunkier," Bert yelled, outraged.

"Well," Wes chuckled, before he could finish Bert shot him a glare that just made him laugh harder.

"And," Bert continued, "I'm only slightly shorter than you."

"**Bert," the other guy said, sighing, as he let his hand drop. "Honestly." "You have to understand." This Bert said to me, solemnly, "I'm down in a big way." "Just apologize," The older guy said. "I'm very sorry," Bert said. He reached up and picked a pine needle out of his hair. "I, um, thought you were someone else."**

"Well, duh." Kristy glowered at him.

"**It's okay," I told him. The older guy nudged him, then nodded towards the fliers. "Oh, right," Bert said, dropping down on his knees. He started to pick them up, his fingers scratching the pavement, as the other guy walked a bit down the driveway, picking up the ones that had slid there.**

"Good, that was very polite of you," Delia murmured, "But both still have truck duty."

Bert huffed, and mumbled something about child labor laws. Wes grimaced but laughed at him.

"**That was a good one, too," Bert was muttering as I squatted down beside him to help. "Almost had him. Almost." The light outside the kitchen door popped on, and suddenly it was very bright. A second later the door swung open. "What in the world is going on here?" I turned to see a woman in a red apron, with black curly hair piled on top of her head, standing at the top of the stairs. She was pregnant, and was squinting out into the dark with a curious, although somewhat impatient, expression. **

Everyone smiled and turned to Delia, who blushed and looked at the books with a small smile.

"**Where's that platter I asked for?" "Right here," the older guy called out as he came back up the drive way, a bunch of my flyers now stacked neatly upon the platter. **

"Is she ever going to learn your name?" Kristy snickered.

"I don't know, now that I think about it, I don't remember telling her it." Wes laughed shrugging.

**He handed them to me. "Thanks," I said. "No problem." Then he took the stairs two at a time, handing the platter to the women, as Bert crawled under the deck for the last two fliers that had landed there. "Marvelous," she said. "Now, Wes, get back to the bar, will you? The more they drink the less they'll notice how long the food is taking."**

"If I had known she was standing there I wouldn't have said that so loud," Delia muttered embarrassed.

"I don't think she really cared." Bert shrugged.

"**Sure thing," the guy said, ducking through the doorway and disappearing into the kitchen. The women ran her hand over her belly, distracted, then looked back out into the dark. "Bert?" she called out loudly. "Where-""Right here," Bert said, from under the deck. She turned around and stuck her head over the side for the rail. "Are you on the ground?" "Yes." "What are you **_**doing?**_**"**

"Somebodies getting angry," Bert smirked at Delia.

"Well, I thought you were out playing in the dirt when we had work to do, I didn't know you were being an idiot," Delia huffed at him.

"**Nothing," Bert mumbled. "Well," the woman said, "when you're done doing that, I've got crab cakes cooling with your name on them. So get your butt in here, please, okay?" "Okay," he said, "I'm coming." The woman went back inside, and a second later I heard her yelling something about mini-biscuits. Bert came out from under the deck, organizing the fliers he was holding into a stack, then handing them to me. "I'm really sorry," he said. "It's just this stupid thing."**

"Yeah, a very stupid thing that you guys just won't give up," Kristy glared.

"Because I'm winning," Wes laughed.

"**Its fine," I told him, as he picked another leaf out of his hair. "It was an accident." He looked at me, his expression serious. "There are," he said, "no accidents." For a second I just stared at him.**

"Really Bert, are you serious," Kristy eyed him.

"What it's just something my mom told me," he said looking down.

**He had a chubby face and a wide nose, and his hair was thick and too short, like it had been cut at home.**

"Ha, I told you your hair cuts suck," Bert huffed at Wes.

Wes just shrugged, "You're the one that still let me cut your hair."

Bert glared at Wes while Kristy shoved her fist in her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"Donneven," Monica said in the usual monotone.

**He was watching me so intently, as if he wanted to be sure I understood, that it took me a second to look away. "Bert!" the woman yelled from inside. "Crab cakes!" "Right," he said, snapping out of it. Then he backed up to the stairs and started up them quickly. When he got to the top, he glanced back down at me. "But I am sorry," he said, saying the words that I'd heard so much in the last year and a half they hardly carried meaning anymore. **

"I meant it when I said it, but I can understand how she feels." Bert nodded.

**Although I had a feeling he meant it. Weird. "I'm sorry," he said again. And then he was gone. When I got inside, my mother was in some deep conversation about zoning with a couple of contractors. I refreshed the fliers, then directed a man who was a bit stumbly and holding a glass of wine he probably didn't need to the bathroom. **

"Urg, I hate dealing with drunken people, they always make a mess," she said glaring at Wes.

"What, I merely fulfill their request, if I cut them off they would cause a scene and we wouldn't get paid," Wes groaned.

**I was scanning the room for stray empty glasses when there was a loud crash from the kitchen. Everything in the front of the house stopped. Conversation. Motion. The very air. Or so it felt.**

"Dear lord, did everyone have to notice," Delia huffed and flopped her head back into the couch cushions.

"It's us, what do you expect." Bert snickered, which lead to Wes hitting him in the head with a pillow. "That was completely unnecessary, and a little mean."

"**Its fine!" a voice called out, upbeat and cheerful, from the other side of the door. "Carry on as you were!"**

"Trust me, I was anything but, upbeat and cheerful," Delia surprised us all by laughing loudly.

**There was a slight surprised murmur from the assembled crowd, some laughter, and then slowly the conversation built again. My mother smiled her way across the room, then put a hand on the small of my back, easing me toward the foyer. "There's a spill on a client, not enough appetizer's, and a crash," she said, her voice level. "I'm not happy. Could you go and convey that, please?"**

"You needn't have bothered, no one was happy, you didn't have to say it," Kristy muttered.

"I'm feel so bad that we messed up her party, she will probably never use us again, and that could have been a steady relationship." Delia sighed, disgruntle.

"**Right," I said. "I'm on it." When I came through the kitchen door, the first thing I did was step on something that mushed, in a wet sort of way, under my foot. Then I noticed that the floor was littered with small round objects, some at a standstill, some rolling slowly to the four corners of the room. A little girl in pigtails, who looked to be about two or three, was standing by the sink, fingers in her mouth and wide eyed as several of the marblelike objects moved past her. "Well." I looked over to see the pregnant women standing by the stove, an empty cookie sheet in her hands. She sighed. "I guess that's it for the meatballs."**

"In retrospect, we probably should have noticed she was there by now." Bert snickered.

"Yeah right, like you two noticed anything when Delia's full meltdown mode," Kristy laughed.

**I picked up my foot to examine it, stepping aside just in time to keep from getting hit by the door as it swung open. Bert, now leafless and looking somewhat composed, breezed in carrying a tray filled with a tray filled with wadded-up napkins and empty glasses. "Delia," he said to the woman, "we need more crab cakes." "And I need a sedative," she replied in a tired voice, stretching her back, "but you can't have everything. Take the cheese puffs and tell them were traying the crab cakes up right now."**

"Crab cakes and meatballs are always the first to go," Kristy rolled her eyes.

"I don't even really like crab cakes." Bert mutters.

"**Are we?" Bert asked, passing the toddler, who smiled widely, reaching out for him with her spitty fingers. He sidestepped her, heading for the counter, and, unhappy, she plopped down into a sitting position and promptly started wailing. "Not exactly at this moment, no," Delia said, crossing the room. "I'm speaking futuristically."**

"More like optimistically," Kristy muttered.

"Yeah, you were completely lost weren't you," Wes smirked at her.

"Does it matter," Delia glared at them.

"**Is that a word?" Bert asked her. "Just take the cheese puffs," she said as she picked up the little girl. "Oh, Lucy, please God okay, just hold back the hysterics for another hour, I'm begging you." She looked down at her shoe. "Oh no, I just stepped in a meatball. Where's Monica?"**

"She's a slippery one, that girl?" Bert winked at her.

"Bettaquit," Monica stared blankly at him.

"**Here," a girl's voice said from the other side of the side door. Delia made an exasperated face. "Put out that cigarette and get in here, now. Find a broom and get up these meatballs . . . and we need to get some more of these cheese puffs in, and Bert needs . . .what else did you need?" "Crab cakes," Bert said. "Futuristically speaking. And Wes needs ice." "In the oven, ready any second," She said, shooting him a look as she walked over to the broom closet, toddler on her hip, and rummaged around for a second before pulling out a dust pan. "The crab cakes, not the ice. Lucy, please, don't slobber on mommy . . .And ice is . . .oh, shit, I don't know where the ice is. Where did we put the bags we bought?" "Cooler," a tall girl said as she came inside, letting the door slam behind her.**

"And Monica makes her grand entrance," Bert snickered, bowing to Kristy.

"The best damn entrance in this book, yet anyway." Kristy smiled.

**She had long honey-blonde hair and was slouching as she ambled over to the oven. She pulled it open, a couple of inches at a time, then glanced inside before shutting it again and making her way over to the island, still moving at a snail's pace.**

"She does kind move that slow," Kristy sighed, "sorry."

"Yes, you do, it takes you forever to do anything," Bert laughed at he. Then he got a mouth full of pillow.

"Bettaquit," Monica glared at him.

"**Done," she announced. "Then please **_**take**_** them out and **_**put**_** them on a tray, Monica," Delia snapped, shifting the toddler to her other hip. She started scooping up meatballs into the dustpan as Monica made her way back to the oven, pausing entirely too long to pick up a pot holder on her way. "I'll just wait for the crab cakes," Bert said. "It's only-" Delia stood and glared at him.**

"Much like she is right now," Bert muttered. As in fact Delia glared at him.

**It was quiet for a second, but someone told me this was not my opening. I stayed put, scraping **

**Way. People are grabbing at me like you wouldn't believe."**

"Yeah, this one chick, grabbed my butt, she was a total cougar," Bert shivered.

"Way too much information Bert." Kristy made a gagging sound.

"**Monica, get back out there," Delia said as the tall girl ambled back over, a tray of sizzling crab cakes in her hand. Putting down the dustpan, Delia moved to the island, grabbing a spatula, and began with one hand, to load crab cakes onto the plate at lightning speed. "Now." "But-" "I know what I said," Delia shot back, slapping a stack of napkins of the edge of the tray, "but this is an emergency situation, and I have to put you back in, even if it is against my better judgment. Just walk slowly ND and look where you're going, and be careful with liquids, please God I'm begging you, okay?" **

"In a crisis situation always look to Delia, to add the drama," Bert laughed at her.

"It's not my fault, that I have a catering company filled with klutzy people," She huffed throwing her hands in the air.

**The last part, I was already beginning to recognize, was a mantra of sorts for her,**

"Working with these people, you had better believe it," Delia sighed.

**As if by stringing all these words together, one of them might stick. "Okay," Monica said, tucking her hair behind her ear. She picked up the tray, adjusted it on her hand, and headed off around the corner, taking her time. Delia watched her go, shaking her head, then turned her attention back to the meatballs, scooping the few remaining into the dustpan and chucking them into the garbage can. Her daughter was still sniffling, and she was talking to her, softly, as she walked to a metal cart by the side door, pulling out a tray covered in Saran Wrap. As she crossed the room she balanced it precariously on her free hand, her walk becoming a slight waddle. I had never seen anyone so in need of help in my life. **

"I know we are a hot mess," Delia sighed, but still smiled at everyone.

"But, at least we have fun, " Kristy laughed, jumping up and dancing around.

"**What else, what else," she said as she reached the island, sliding the tray there. "What else did we need?" She pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes. "Ice," I said, and she turned around and looked at me. "Ice," she repeated. Then she smiled. "Thanks. Who are you?" "Macy. This is my mom's house." Her expression changed, but only slightly. I had a feeling she knew what was coming. **

"I've gotten used to it by now," Delia sighed again.

**I took a breath. "She wanted me to come and check that everything's all right. And to convey that she's-" "Incredibly pissed," she finished for me, nodding. "Well, not **_**pissed**_**." Just then, there was another crash from the next room, followed by another short silence. Delia glanced over at the door, just as the toddler started to wailing again. "Now?" she said to me. "Well . . .yes," I said. Actually, I was betting this was an understatement. "Now, she's probably pissed." **

"Who wouldn't be, sometimes we really suck," Bert grumbled.

"It took you this long to figure that out," Kristy said incredulously.

"Hey we just need to be positive." Delia said but even she wasn't convinced.

"**Oh, dear." She put a hand on her face, shaking her head. "This is a disaster." I wasn't sure what to say. I felt nervous enough just watching all this: I couldn't imagine being responsible for it. "Well," she said, after a second, "in a way, it's good. We know where we stand. Now things can only get better. Right?" **

"Speaking of Delia's positive thinking." Wes muttered.

**I didn't say anything, which probably didn't inspire much confidence. Just then, the oven timer went off with a cheerful **_**Bing!**_** Noise. "Okay," she said suddenly, as if this had signaled a call to action. "Macy. Can you answer a question?" "Sure," I said. "How are you with a spatula?"**

"I know that without her, we probably would have flopped, but this most likely wasn't my best idea, overall," Delia stared pensively at the book.

"Probably not." Kristy agreed shaking her head.

**This hadn't been what I was expecting. "Pretty good," I said finally. "Wonderful," she said. "Come here." Fifteen minutes later, I'd figured out a rhythm. It was like baking cookies, but accelerated: lay out cheese puffs/crab cakes on cookie sheet in neat rows, put in oven, remove other pan from oven, pile onto tray, send out. And repeat. "Perfect," Delia said, watching me as she laid out mini-toasts at twice my speed and more neatly.**

"It just takes practice that's all," Delia blushed pleased.

"**You could have a bright future in catering, my dear, if such a thing even exists." I smiled at this Monica, the sloth like girl,**

Bert started laughing, rolling on the floor. Before he could even open his mouth Monica looked over, "Donneven."

**Eased through the door, carrying a tray laden with napkins. After her second spill she'd been restricted to only carrying solids, a status farther amended to just trash and empty glasses once she'd bumped into the banister and sent half a tray of cheese puffs down the front of some man's shirt. You'd think moving slowly would make someone less accident prone.**

"You would think that wouldn't you?" Wes muttered under his breath for fear he'd get hit with a mouthful of pillow.

**Clearly, Monica was bucking this logic. "How's it going out there?" Delia asked her, glancing over at her daughter, Lucy, who was now asleep in her car seat on the kitchen table. Frankly, Delia had astounded me.**

"Aww, that's so sweet," Delia smiled flattered.

Wes looked over at her and laughed.

**After acknowledging the hopelessness of her situation, she had immediately righted it, putting two more trays of canapés, getting the ice from the cooler, and soothing her daughter to sleep, all in about three minutes. Like her mantra of oh-please-God-I'm-begging-you-okay; she just did all she could, and eventually something just worked. It was impressive.**

"It not as easy it looks trust me," Delia huffed with a wary smile.

"And it doesn't always work either." Kristy smirked.

"**Fine," Monica reported flatly, shuffling over to the garbage can, where, after pausing for a second, she began to clear off her tray, one item at a time. Delia rolled her eyes as I slid another tray into the oven. "We're not always like this," she told me, opening another pack of cheese puffs.**

"Yes, we are," Bert snickered chuckling.

"I know, but that not something you say to the people who hired you," Delia rolled her eyes at him.

"**I swear. We are usually the model of professionalism and efficiency." Monica, hearing this, snorted. Delia shot her a look.**

"You couldn't help me out at all?" Delia glared at her.

"What?" Monica said blankly.

"Whatever," Delia gave up; you can't really fight with a monotone anyway.

"**But," she continued, "my babysitter flaked on me tonight, and then one of my servers had other plans,**

"Meaning a guy," Bert clarified.

"No!" Kristy glared, blushing slightly. Everyone knew it was a guy, even Delia who just chuckled slightly annoyed.

**And then, well, then the world just turned on me. You know that feeling?" I nodded. You have no idea, I thought.**

"Yes, I do," Delia sighed glancing briefly at Wes and Bert, who were quiet.

**Out loud I said, "Yeah. I do." "Macy! There you are!" I looked up to see my mother standing by the kitchen doorway. "Is everything okay back here?" This question, while posed at me, was really for Delia, and I could tell she knew it:**

"Definitely, her mother looked ready to kill," Delia flinched.

**She busied herself laying out cheese puffs, now at triple speed. Behind her, Monica had finally cleared her tray and was dragging herself across the room, the tray bumping against her knee. "Yes," I said. "I was just asking Delia about how to make crab cakes." **

"She needed have bothered, her mother already knew we were a mess," Delia waved her hand through the air dismissively.

**As she came toward us, my mother was running a hand through her hair, which meant she was preparing herself for some sort of confrontation. Delia must have sensed this; too, as she picked up a dish towel, wiping her hands, and turned to face my mother, a calm expression on her face.**

"Trust me I was anything but calm," Delia sighed.

"Did she curse you out," Kristy chuckled.

"No, she didn't curse, but if looks could kill," Delia shrugged.

"**The food is getting rave reviews," my mother started began in a voice that made it clear that a **_**but**_** was to follow, "but-""Mrs. Queen." Delia took a deep breath, which she then let out, placing her hand on her chest. "Please. You don't have to say anything more." I opened up another tray of crab cakes, keeping my head down. "I am so deeply sorry for our disorganized beginning tonight," Delia continued. "I found out I was understaffed at the last minute, but that's no excuse. I'd like to forgo your remaining balance in the is hopes that consider us again for another one of your events." **

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Bert rolled his eyes.

"I had to say something," Delia defended.

**The meaningful silence that followed this speak was held for a full five seconds, until it was broken by Bert bursting back through the door. "Need more biscuits!" he said. "They're going to like hotcakes!"**

"Again, can none of you help me out here," Delia glared.

"Sorry," Bert groaned.

"**Bert," Delia said forcing a smile for my mother's sake, "you don't have to bellow. We're right here." "Sorry," Bert said. "Here." I handed him the tray I'd just finished and took his empty one. "There should be crab cakes in the next few minutes, too." "Thanks," he said. Then he recognized me. "Hey," he said. "You work here now here now?"**

"It would be lovely to have her." Delia smiled happily.

"She works at the library remember, for Jason," Kristy said his name like it was a dirty word.

Wes didn't understand why this whole Jason this was starting to really get on his nerves.

"**Um, no." I put the empty tray down in front of me. "Not really." I glanced over at my mother. Between Delia's heartfelt "Sorry" and my exchange with Bert, I could see she was struggling to keep up. "Well," she said finally, turning her attention back to Delia, "I appreciate your apology, and that seems like a fair compensation. The food **_**is**_** wonderful." "Thank you so much," Delia said. "I really appreciate it." Just then there was a burst of laughter from the living room, happy party noise, and my mother glanced toward it, as if reassured. "Well," she said, "I suppose I should get back to my guest." She started out of the room, then paused by the fridge. "Macy?" she said. "Yes?" "When you're done here, I could us you. Okay?" "Sure," I said, grabbing a pot holder and heading over to the oven to check on the crab cakes. "I'll be there in a sec." **

"I don't think that's really what her mom meant," Bert chuckled.

"What do you mean?" Kristy said.

"I mean, I think she wanted to leave with her then," Bert laughed.

"**She's been wonderful, by the way," Delia told her. "I told her if she needs work, I'll hire her in a second." "That's so nice of you," my mother said. "Macy's actually working at the library this summer." "Wow," Delia said. "That's great."**

"Ha, even you think it's boring," Bert snickered.

"I never said I didn't" Delia groaned.

"**It's just the information desk," I told her, opening the oven door. "Answering questions and staff." "Ah," Delia said. "A girl with all the answers." "That's Macy." My mother smiled. "She's a very bright girl." I didn't know what to say to this-what could you say to this?-so I just reached in for the crab cakes, focusing on that when my mother left the kitchen, Delia came over, pot holder in hand, and took the tray as I slid it of the oven. "You've been a great help," she said,**

"Sucking up to the daughter Delia," Bert snickered.

"No, I really meant it, unlike some people," Delia glared at him.

"**Really. But you'd better go out there with your mom." "No, its fine," I said. "She won't even notice I'm not there." Delia smiled. "Maybe not. But you should go anyway." I stepped back, out of the way, as she carried the tray over to the island. In her car seat, Lucy shifted slightly, mumbling to herself, the fell quiet again. "So the library, huh?" she said, picking up her spatula. "That's cool."**

"Now she'll know your lying," Bert laughed. Delia just shrugged, "Maybe."

"**It's just for the summer," I told her. "I'm filling in for someone." She started lifting crab cakes off the cookie sheet, arranging them on the tray. "Well, if it doesn't work out, I'm in the book. I could always use someone who could take directions and walk in a straight line." As if to punctuate this, Monica slunk back in, blowing her bangs out of her face. "Catering is an insane job, though," Delia said.**

"You can say that again," Delia leaned back into the couch.

"Well, then say it, it was you who said it in the first place," Bert snickered.

"Wes," Delia sighed warily at him.

"Don't look at me," Wes put his hands up in surrender, "I'm just related to him, and I had _nothing _to do with the end result."

"**I don't know why you'd want to do it, when you have a peaceful, normal job. But if for some reason you're craving chaos, call me. Okay?" Bert came back in, breezing between us, his tray now empty. "Crab cakes!" He bellowed. "Keep 'em coming!" "Bert," Delia said wincing, "I'm **_**right here**_**." I walked back to the door, stepping aside as Monica ambled past me, yawning widely. Bert stood by impatiently, waiting for his tray, while Delia asked Monica to God, please, try and pick up a little, I'm begging you. They'd forgotten about me already, it seemed. But for some reason, I wanted to answer her anyway.**

"Delia has that effect on people," Wes smiled at her. She just chuckled and told him to continue.

"**Yeah," I said, out loud, hoping she could hear me. "Okay."**

"I could hear her," Delia smiled softly.

**The last person at the party, a slightly tipsy, very loud man in a golf sweater, left around nine-thirty. My mother locked the door behind him, took off her shoes, and , after kissing my forehead and thanking me, headed off to her office to assemble packets for people who had signed the **YES! I WANT MORE INFO** sheet she'd had on the front hall table. **

"That poor woman needs to get some sleep, I know she was tired," Delia is a worrier, as per her usual she gave a worried look to the book. Wes just rolled his eyes.

**Contacts were everything, I'd learned.**

"That true," Delia, "It's the same for catering."

**You had to get to people fast, or they'd slip away. Thinking this, I went up to my room and checked my email. Jason had written me, as promised, but it was mostly about things he wanted to remind me of concerning the info desk (make sure to keep track of all copier keys, they are **_**very expensive**_** to replace) **

"Dump. Him. Please! I will pay you," Kristy cried.

"Let. It. Go. Please! I will pay you," Wes cried back at him, earning him a glare from Kristy.

**Or other things I was handling for him while he was away (remember, on Saturday, to send the email to the Foreign Culture group about the featured speaker who is coming in to give that talk in August). At the very end, he said he was too tired to write more and that he'd be in touch in a couple days.**

"Was he writing an employee or his girlfriend," Kristy frowned.

**Then just his name, no "Love." Not that I'd been expecting it. Jason wasn't the type for displays of affection, either verbal or not. He was disgusted by couples that made out in the hallways between classes, and got annoyed at even the slightest sappy moments in movies. **

"How old is he, a hundred," Kristy bellowed.

**But I knew that he cared about me: he just conveyed it more subtly, as concise with expressing this emotion as he was with everything else. It was in the way he'd put his hand on the small of my back, for instance, or how he'd smile at me when I said something that surprised him. Once I might have wanted more, but I'd come around to his way of thinking in time we'd been together.**

"I would have never treated her that way, that coldly," Wes muttered.

"Oh really, how would you have treated her," Kristy smirked. Wes ignored her, knowing she was just trying to bait him.

**And we were together all the time. So he didn't have to do anything to prove how he felt about me. Like so much else, I just knew. But this was the first time we were going to be apart for more than a weekend since we'd gotten together, and I was beginning to realize that the small reassurances I got in person would not transfer over to email. But he loved me, and I knew that. I'd just have to remember it now. After I logged off, I opened my window and crawled out onto the roof, **

"She really is just like you Kristy," Wes smirked.

"I don't sneak out, I promise." Kristy told Delia when she saw her shoot her a questioning look.

**Sitting against one of the stutters with my knees pulled up to my chest. I'd been out there for a little while, looking at the stars, when I heard voices coming up from the driveway. A car door shut, then another. Peering over the edge, I saw a few people moving around the Wish Catering van as they packed up the last of their things. " . . .this **_**other**_** planet, that's moving at the same trajectory as Earth. It's only a matter of time before it hits us. I mean, they don't talk about this on the news. But that doesn't mean it's not **_**happening**_**."**

"Oh great," Kristy rolled her eyes, "Now she won't come work with us because you're a freak."

"Hey, I am right you just don't-"

"Bert, we do not have time for that," Delia smiled politely, "I'm sorry sweetie."

"Fine." Bert huffed from his favorite loveseat.

**It was Bert talking. I recognized his voice, a bit high pitched and anxious, **

Wes started cracking up laughing, "That's exactly how your voice sounds.

"No it's not!" Bert bellowed back.

**Before I made him out, standing by the back of the van. He was talking to someone who was sitting on the bumper smoking a cigarette, the tip of which was bright and red in the murky dark. "Ummmm-hmmmm," the person said slowly. Had to be Monica. "Really." "Bert give it a rest," another voice said, and Wes, the older guy, walked up, sliding something into the back of the van. I'd hardly seen him that night, as he'd worked the bar in the den. "I'm just trying to help her be informed!" Bert said indignantly.**

"Who says we want to be informed," Kristy muttered.

"**This is serious stuff, Wes. Just because you prefer to stay in the dark-" "Are we ready to go?" Delia came down the driveway, her voice uneven, Lucy on her hip. She had the car seat dangling from one hand, and Wes walked up and took it from her.**

"Urg, you boys are so lazy, you would make the pregnant woman carry the baby and the car seat all the way down the driveway," Kristy glared at Bert and Wes.

"Sorry," they said to Delia.

"My boys, " she sighed rubbing her belly.

**From where I was sitting, I could make out clearly the top of his head, the white of his shirt. Then, as if sensing this, he leaned his head back, glancing up.**

"I did kinda feel like someone was watching me, but also I wanted to look at the stars," Wes shrugged, but even he knew it had more to do with her.

**I slid back against the wall. "Did we get paid?" Bert asked. "Had to comp half," she said. "The price of chaos. Probably should bother me, but frankly, I'm too pregnant and exhausted to care. Who has the keys?" "I do," Bert said. "I'll drive." The silence that followed was long enough to make me want to peer over the edge of the roof again, but I stopped myself.**

Everyone laughed at Bert was hunched against the couch muttering about how he got a permit so he obviously can drive.

"**I don't think so," Delia said finally. "Don't even," Monica added. "What?" Bert said. "Come on! I've had a permit for a year! I'm taking the test in a week! And I have to have some more practice before I get the Bertmobile." "You have," Wes said, his voice low, "to stop calling it that." **

"You really do, it's not cool, at all," Wes said smirking.

"Just wait," Bert shoot his finger at Wes, "soon, even you will be saying it."

"No, no I won't." Wes just looked at Bert.

"**Bert," Delia said, signing , "Normally, I would love for you to drive. But it's been a long night and right now I just want to get home, okay? Next time, it's all you. But for now, just let your brother drive. Okay?" Another silence. Someone coughed. "Fine," Bert said. "Just fine." I heard a car door slam, then another. I leaned over to see Wes and Bert still standing at the back of the van. Bert was kicking the ground, clearly sulking, while Wes stood by passively.**

"Hey, why can't you ever take my side?" Bert said accusingly.

"Because we were all tired, and now wasn't the time to end up in one big fight," Wes argued.

"Whatever," Bert crossed his eyes and sat sulking.

"**It's not a big deal," He said to Bert after a minute, pulling a hand through his hair. Now I knew for sure that they were brothers. They looked even more alike to me, although the similarities-skin tone, dark hair, dark eyes- were distributed on starkly different builds. "I never get to drive," Bert told him. "Never. Even lazy Monotone got to last week, but never me. Never."**

"Hey! She is not lazy!" Kristy shot Bert a glare.

"Seriously," he shot back, getting up and starting to cross the room before Wes put his hands on him and forced him to sit back down.

"Not right now," he glared at both of them.

"**You will," Wes said. "Next week you'll have your own car, and you can drive whenever you want. But don't push this issue now, man. It's late." Bert stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Whatever," he said, and started around the van, shuffling his feet. Wes followed him, clapping a hand on his back. "You know that girl who was in the kitchen tonight, helping Delia?" Bert asked.**

"Urg, I didn't know she was listening to us," Bert groaned into his hands.

Even Wes blushed a little, though he didn't know why. After all they hadn't said anything bad he though.

**I froze. "Yeah," Wes answered. "The one you leaped out at?" "Anyway," Bert said loudly, "don't you know who she is?" "No" Bert pulled open the back door. "Yeah, you do. Her dad-" I waited. Knowing what was coming, but still, I had to hear the words that would follow. The ones that define me, set me apart. "-was the coach when we use to run in that kids' league, back in elementary school," Bert finished. "The Lakeview Zips. Remember?"**

"Oh, yeah, I don't know why I couldn't remember you telling me that last night," Wes hit himself upside the head.

"I didn't remember it myself. Weird," Bert shrugged.

**Wes opened the back door for Bert. "Oh yeah," he said. "Coach Joe, right?" Right, I thought, and felt a pang in my chest. "Coach Joe," Bert said repeated, as he shut his door. "He was a nice guy." I watched Wes walk to the driver's door and pull it open. He stood there for a second, taking a final look at the around, before climbing in and shutting the door behind him.**

"What were you thinking about?" Kristy asked.

"Nothing just wondering if we had missed anything," Wes shrugged, but he knew what he had been thinking about, he had been wondering if he would ever see that girl again, just like he'd been thinking about her that morning.

**I had to admit, I was surprised. I'd gotten so used to being known as the girl whose dad died, I sometimes forgot that I'd had a life before that. I moved back into the shadows by my window as the engine started up and the van bumped down the driveway, brake lights flashing as it turned out onto the street. There was a big wishbone painted on the sign, thick black paint strokes, and from a distance it looked like a Chinese character, striking even if you didn't know, really, what it meant. **

"It sounds like she likes it Wes," Kristy smiled at him. Wes just looked at the book, secretly he was pleased.

**I kept my eye on it, following it down through the neighborhood, over the hill, down to the stop sign, until it was gone.**

"Wow she really knows the neighborhood," Bert smirked.

"Well, Duh," Kristy snickered, "Her parent built it."

"That's the end of the chapter." Wes said putting it down.

"I'm next, but can we start in the morning, I'm a little tired," Everyone nodded and agreed to meet at 11 tomorrow. Delia kissed the boys goodnight and went to bed. Wes, stayed up all night thinking about the girl, trying to figure out why he couldn't get her out of her head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do **Not** own _The Truth about Forever_ or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.

Chapter 4

Monica and Kristy arrived early the next morning, thankfully, now they could start the book early. Delia took the book and got comfortable in her arm chair and started reading.

**Chapter 3: **Delia read

**I couldn't sleep. **

'Me either,' Wes thought bitterly. He had been up all night thinking about her. About all the similarities between the two of them, and about how Jason was irritating the hell out of him and he didn't know why. He had Becky, whom he cared about a lot; he should not be worried about some girl he barely knows. Right?

**I was starting my job at the library the next day, and I had that night-before-the-first-day-of-school feeling, all jumpy and nervous.**

"Why? It's the library," Kristy said incredulously.

"It's still the first day, she just wants to do well," Delia shrugged.

**But then again, I'd never been much of a sleeper. That was the weird thing about that morning when my dad came to get me. I'd been out. Sound asleep.**

"Maybe she wasn't meant to see it," Delia mused quietly.

**Since then, I had almost a fear of sleeping, sure that something bad would happen if I ever allowed myself to be fully unconscious, even for a second.**

"I was like that for a while," Wes muttered to himself, thinking about all of his sleepless nights after his mom died.

"Both of you needed to let go," Delia said looking into the sad faces of Bert and Wes, "and she needs to now."

**As a result, I only allowed myself to barely doze off. When I did sleep enough to dream, it was always about running.**

At this Wes smiled, running was one of his favorite things to do to clear his mind. He had many dreams about running. Feeling the air rising with him, the world turning into a blur on both sides. Just one more push and he'd be free, free falling into the sky, just like flying.

**My dad loved to run. He'd had me and my sister doing it from a young age with the Lakeview Zips, and later he was always dragging us to the 5ks he ran, signing us up for the kids' division. I remember my first race, when I was six, standing there at the starting line a few rows back, with nothing at my eye level but shoulders and necks.**

"Aww, she must have been adorable," Delia smiled looking at the book with a warm expression.

**I was short for my age, and Caroline had of course pushed her way to the front, stating clearly that at ten-almost-eleven, she didn't belong in the back with the babies.**

"She sounds just like Kristy," Bert snickered.

"I do not sound like that!" Kristy glared at him.

**The starting gun popped and everyone pushed forward, the thumping of sneakers against asphalt suddenly deafening, and at first it was like I was carried along with it, my feet seeming hardly to touch the ground.**

"Exactly!" Wes whispered excitedly, looking intently at the book.

**The people on the sides of the streets were a blur, faces blowing by: all I could focus on was the ponytail of the girl in front of me, tied with a blue grosgrain ribbon. Some big boy bumped me hard from the back, passing, and I had a cramp in my side by the second length, then I heard my dad. "Macy! Good girl! Keep it up, you're doing great!"**

Everyone was looking at the book with sad eyes, her father had been a really sweet man, it was horrible that she had to lose him the way she did.

**I knew by the time I was eight years old that I was fast, faster than the kids I was running with. I knew even before I started to pass the bigger kids in the first length, even before I won my first race, then every race.**

"Wow," Bert said in awe, "She won her first race, and every race after that, she must have been ridiculously fast."

"I know," Wes mumbled completely impressed, he wondered what her best time was. Then, a crazy idea ran through his mind, he wondered if he could get her to run with him sometime. He banished the thought immediately from his mind, before he got himself into trouble.

**When I was really going, the wind whistling in my ears, I was sure that if I wanted to, it only another burst of breath, one more push,**

Wes held his breath waiting for the end of her sentence, he couldn't believe that she would feel the same way about running as him, almost his exact thoughts were mirrored in hers. He was shocked, but at the same time he realized that this could become a serious problem.

**And I could fly. By then it was just me running. My sister had lost interest around seventh grade, when she discovered her best event was not, as we'd all thought, the hundred meters, but in fact flirting with the boy's track team afterwards.**

"Bert, if you want to survive to read the end of this book you will shut your mouth right now," Kristy smiled deadly at him. Bert swallowed hard and turned toward Wes with a pleading glance.

"Don't even look at me, I am not going to protect you this time," Wes smirked at him.

**She still liked to run, but didn't see much point anymore if she didn't have someone chase after her. So it was me and my dad who went to meets, who woke up early to do our standard five mile loop,**

"Now doesn't this sound familiar," Kristy smiled condescendingly at Wes.

Wes rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored her. He knew he ran ever night, almost like a second religion. He got that they had a ridiculous amount of things in common, but he couldn't deal with it. He was already constantly reminding himself that he had a girlfriend. He was in enough trouble as it was, without anyone else needing to point it out for him.

**Who compared T-band strains and bad knee horror stories over ice packs and PowerBars on Sunday mornings. It was the best thing we had in common, the one part of him that was all mine. Which was why, that morning, I should have been with him.**

"She can't blame herself for that," Delia sighed sadly, "I'm convinced she wasn't meant to be there, and I'm sure it was better that she wasn't she couldn't have done anything to help. She would have just ended up having nightmares about it."

Everyone nodded their heads in agreement. Bert understood better than anyone, he shuddered at the thought of the nightmares he had had after their mother died. It still hurt to think of her face the last couple of time he had visited her at the hospital. Delia was right, she was lucky she was there to see him collapse.

**From that moment on, running changed for me. It didn't matter how good my times were, what records I'd planned to break just days before. There was one time I would never beat, so I quit.**

Wes didn't know why, but it broke his heart to hear.

That's a lie, he knew exactly why, he just refused to admit it. He refused to admit that hearing that she quit, made him feel sad for her, and made him wish he could fix it for her and get her to run again, with him. Overall,, he was ashamed that even though he had a girlfriend, he was upset because he could never get this girl to run with him. He put his head in his hands, Delia hurried up and read on.

**By alternating the familiar route that took me past the intersection of Willow and McKinley whenever I went out, and looping one extra block instead, I'd been able to avoid the place where everything happened: it was easy, really, to never drive past it again.**

"She needs to stop avoiding what happened and just face it, or she'll never let it go," Kristy whispered. Everyone just stared at her. "What? I can be insightful when I want to be."

Everyone chuckled sadly and nodded their heads in agreement with her words.

**My friends from the track team were a bit harder. They'd stuck close to me, loyal, at the funeral and the days afterwards, and while they were disappointed when the coach told them I quit, they were even more hurt when I started to avoid them in the halls.**

"Of course they were, they cared about you, more than that Jason anyway," Kristy groaned.

The mention of Macy's boyfriend sent Wes' teeth on edge, he couldn't say anything because it would tip them off more than they already were. Not that there was much he could say, HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND. He wondered how long that logic would still work for him.

**Nobody seemed to understand that the only person that I could count on not to bring up my dad, not to feel sorry for me, or make The Face-other than my mother-was me. So I narrowed my world, cutting out everyone who'd known me or tried to befriend me. It was the only thing I knew to do.**

"No you need to get over it, but you don't want to face what happened," Delia said honestly.

**I packed up all my trophies and ribbons, piling them neatly into boxes. It was like that part of my life, my running life, was just gone. It was almost too easy, for something I once thought had meant everything to me.**

"It does, you just put it on hold," Kristy shrugged.

"I bet she'd be happy again if she let herself," Bert agreed solemnly.

**So now I only ran in my dreams. In them, there was always something awful about to happen, or there was something I'd forgotten, and my legs felt like jelly, not strong enough to hold me. Whatever else varied, the ending was the same, a finish line I could never reach, no matter how many miles I put behind me. "Oh, right." Bethany looked up at me through her slim, wire framed glasses. "You're starting today."**

"Something tells me I'm not going to like this chick," Kristy groaned.

"I think these are those mean chicks she mention in the first chapter," Bert smirked.

"Yep, I'm not going to like them," Kristy nodded her head.

**I just stood there, holding my purse, suddenly entirely too aware of the nail I'd broken as I unfastened my seat belt in the parking lot.**

"Oh no, do not let yourself get intimidated by those bitches," Kristy shrieked.

"Kristy!" Delia huffed at her. Delia hated when we cursed, she said it wasn't lady like or gentlemanly, and it certainly wasn't professional (we can blame Bert for that mishap during a catering job).

**I'd put so much time into getting dressed for this first day, ironing my shirt, making my hair perfectly straight, redoing my lipstick twice.**

"Hear that," Kristy said eyeing Bert, "when you're going someplace professional, you dress the part."

"Yeah, yeah," Bert said waving her off, "but you take three hour, and we are just going to a _party_."

"It doesn't matter, when you're going someplace with lots of people you want to look nice," Kristy shrugged.

"Enough, you two, can we read," Wes said impatiently.

"umm-hum," Monica agreed.

**Now, though, my nail, ripped across the top, jagged, seemed to defeat everything, even as I tucked it into my palm, hiding it. Bethany pushed back her chair and stood up. "You can sit on the end, I guess," she said, reaching over to unlatch the knee-high door between us holding it open as I stepped through. "Not in the red chair, that's Amanda's. The one next to it."**

"Bethany and Amanda, their names alone, make them sound like complete,-" Kristy was cut off by Delia's hormonal death glare. She didn't dare say another word.

"**Thanks," I said. I walked, pulling the chair from the desk, then sat down, stowing my purse at my feet. As second later I heard the door squeak open again and Amanda, Bethany's best friend and student council secretary, came in. She was a tall girl with long hair she always wore in a neat braid that hung halfway down her back. It looked so perfect that during long meetings, when my mind wandered from the official agenda, I'd sometimes wondered if she slept in it, or if it was like a clip on tie, easily removed.**

Everyone chuckled at that thought, sometimes her thoughts were really amusing.

"I bet she does sleep in it," Kristy rolled her eyes still chuckling.

"**Hello Macy," she said coolly, taking a seat in her red chair. She had perfect posture, shoulder's back, chin up. Maybe the brain helped, I thought. "I forgot you were starting today."**

"Yeah right!" Kristy snorted, "I don't believe that for a minute, and the way she says they were sitting, makes it sound like they were constipated."

Everyone laughed loudly trying to picture it.

"**Um, yeah," I said. They both looked at me, and I was distinctly aware of that **_**um**_**, so base, hanging in the air between us. I said, more clearly, "Yes." If I was working toward perfect-**

"That's impossible," Wes said quietly.

**Working being the operative word- these girls had already reached it and made maintaining it look effortless. Bethany was a redhead with short hair she wore tucked behind her ears, and had small freckled hands with the nails cut straight across. I'd sat beside her in English, and had always been transfixed when I saw her taking notes: her print was like a typewriter, each letter exact. She was quiet and always composed, while Amanda was more talkative, with a cultured accent**

"She sounds stuck up and like she has a stick up her butt," Kristy muttered.

"And who can write like a typewriter?" Bert asked Wes. Wes just shrugged, this didn't sound like someone who was perfect, just someone who was miserable.

**She'd picked up from her early years in Paris, where her family had lived while her father did graduate work at the Sorbonne. I'd never seen either of the sporting a shirt with a stain on it, or even a wrinkle. They never used anything but proper English. They were the female Jason's.**

"which makes them boring an incredibly bland, like crackers," Kristy said in a matter of fact kind of way. As if she were reporting on the weather. Wes agreed, but was wondering if it was only out of- he stopped himself there. He refused to even think the word.

"**Well, it's been really slow so far this summer," Amanda said to me now, smoothing her hands over her skirt. She had long, pale white legs.**

"Really, how long, I wonder?" Bert mused quietly. Then got smacked over the back of the head by Wes.

"You are NOT going to have the hot's for two boring girls torturing our friend!" Kristy shouted.

"We don't even really know her yet," Bert shouted back.

"Come on!" Kristy said throwing her hands in the air, rolling her eyes, "We got these books, so it's obvious that, during these books sometime, she is going to come work with us and be our friend, and more than likely she's your brother's future girlfriend."

Kristy pointed at Wes, and everyone's eyes went wide and looked at him. Wes, didn't look at anyone, he kept straight forward and rolled his eyes, "I doubt that, I'm not-" He had started to say he wasn't interested in her, but he knew that was a lie, he tried again," I'm dating Becky!" he said sternly, turning to look out the patio window, this wasn't a lie, he told himself, he was in fact dating Becky.

"Yeah, you hold on to that for a long as you can," Kristy snorted in one of those "fat chance" type voices.

"I will," he smiled back politely. And was going to, for as long as he believed was physically possible. Which wasn't very long seeing as he was already holding on to it by a thread.

"**I hope there's enough for you to do." I didn't know what to say to that, so I just smiled my fine-just-fine smile again and turned back to the wall that my desk area faced. Behind me, I could hear them at the clock. It was 9:05. Five hours, fifty-five minutes ago. **

"I would die in a place like that for five hours," Bert muttered shuddering at the thought.

**By noon, I'd answered only one question, and it concerned the location of the bathroom. (So it wasn't just in my house. Anywhere, I looked like I knew about the toilet, if nothing else.) There'd been a fair amount of activity at the desk: a problem with the copy machine, some inquiries into an obscure periodical, even someone with a question about the online encyclopedia that Jason had specifically trained me to handle.**

"I don't understand, I thought she said she only answered one question?" Bert replied confused.

Wes just shrugged at him.

**But even if Amanda or Bethany was helping someone else and the person came right to me, one of them jumped up, saying, "I'll be with you in just a second," in a tone that made it clear asking me would be a waste of time.**

"I would have walked out and left," Kristy huffed slumping in her seat.

"No that would be just letting them win," Delia sighed.

"But staying there, every day, would just give them plenty of time to make her look like an idiot," Bert grumbled.

**The first few times this happened, I'd figured they were just letting me get my feet under me. After a while, though, it was obvious. In their minds, I didn't belong there.**

"No, you don't," Kristy smiled happily, we she looked at us, and noticed we were questioning her sanity she added, "She belong with us."

"I agree," Delia smiled taking a big breath.

**At noon, Amanda put a sign on the desk that said WILL RETURN AT 1:00 and drew bag from her purse. Bethany followed suit, retrieving an apple and gingko biloba bar from the drawer next to her. "We'd invite you to join us," but we're drilling for our Kaplan class. So just be back here in an hour, okay?" "I can stay, if you want," I said. "And then take my lunch at one, so there's someone here." They both just looked at me, as if I'd suggested I could explain quantum physics while juggling bowling pins. **

"They are so rude," Kristy huffed.

"I'm just hoping she'll come to work for us soon," Delia sighed, " they are torturing the poor girl just because they're jealous."

"**No," Amanda said, turning to walk out from behind the desk. "This is better." Then they disappeared into the back room, so I picked up my purse and went outside, walking past the parking lot to a bench by the fountain. I took out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I'd brought, then laid it in my lap and took a few deep breaths. For some reason, I was suddenly sure that I was about to cry.**

"They better hope I never meet them," Kristy said darkly glaring at the book with pure hate in her eyes.

**I sat on the bench for an hour. Then I threw out my sandwich and went back inside. Even though it was 12:55, Bethany and Amanda were already back at the desk, which made me seem late. As I navigated a path between their chairs to get to my seat, I could feel them both looking at me. **

"Take a picture it will last longer," Kristy said, everyone rolled their eyes.

"Really," Bert said raising his eyebrows, "that was older that dirt, in fact I think Jesus said that at the last supper."

Kristy stuck her tongue out at him and motion for Delia to continue reading.

**The afternoon dragged. The library was mostly empty, and I suddenly felt like I could hear everything: the buzzing of the fluorescent lights over my head, the squeak of Bethany's chair as she shifted position, the tappet-tap of the online card catalog station just around the corner. I was used to quiet, but this felt sterile, lonely.**

"That were people go to die of boredom," Bert winced, "I told you it wasn't safe in libraries Wes."

**I could have been working for my mom, and I wondered if I'd made the wrong choice.**

"Yes, yes you did," Bert nodded his head.

**But this was what I had agreed to. At three o'clock, I pushed my chair back and stood up, then opened up to say my first words in over two hours.**

"Wow Bert, in just two hours, Macy was quiet longer than you've been for your entire life," Kristy snickered.

"Shut-up," Bert grumbled sulking into his seat.

**Amanda turned her head, her braid sliding down her shoulder. She'd been reading some thick book on the history of Italy, licking her finger with each turn of the page.**

"Wow, that girl is so anal," Kristy smirked.

"**Oh, right," she said, as Bethany gave me a forced smile. "See you tomorrow." I could feel their gazes right around my shoulder blades as I crossed the reading room and pushed through the glass doors. There, suddenly, was the noise of the world: a car passing, someone laughing in the park across the street, the distant drone of a plane.**

"Yes," Bert nodded smiling, "as Martin Luther King Jr. once said "Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty I'm free at last."

"Wow, you're actually right, he did say that," Wes smiled at Bert who just rolled his eyes.

"**Well," my mother said, handing me the salad bowl, "if you were supposed to love it, they wouldn't call it work. Right?" "I guess," I said. "It'll get better," she said, in the confident way of someone who has no idea, none at all. "And it's great experience. That's what's really matters." By now, I had been at the library for three days, and things were not improving.**

"And they are never going to," Kristy muttered.

"We're skipping days," Bert groaned, then he seemed to rethink it and shrugged, "well if her three days were filled with that library job, I'm glad we skipped it."

"Me too," Wes agreed.

**I knew I was doing this for Jason, that it was important to him, but Bethany and Amanda seemed to be pooling their considerable IQ's in a single minded attempt to completely demoralize me. I was trying to keep my emails to Jason upbeat and reassuring, but after day two, I couldn't help but vent a little about Bethany and Amanda and the way they've been treating me. That was even before another dressing down in front of a patron, this time from Bethany, who felt compelled to point out-twice- that, to her trained ear, I'd mispronounced Albert Camus' name while directing a sullen summer school student to the French literature section.**

"Is she serious?" Bert said incredulously, "I doubt that guy even cared."

"He didn't, she just wanted to be a know it all," Kristy snickered.

"**Cam-oo," she'd said, holding her mouth in that pursed, French way. "Cam-oo," I repeated. I knew I's said it right and wasn't sure why I was letting her correct me. But I was. "No, no." She lifted up her chin again, then fluttered her fingers near her mouth. "Cam-ooo." I just looked at her, knowing no matter how many times I said it, even if I trotted Albert himself up to give it a shot, it didn't matter. "Okay," I said. "Thanks." "No problem," she said, swiveling in her stupid chair, back to Amanda, who smiled at her, shaking her head, before going back to what she was doing.**

"They really need to give it a rest," Kristy said shaking her head, "they probably just want her boyfriend."

**So it was no wonder that when I got home that day, I was cheered, greatly, to see Jason had written me back.**

Wes felt like he got sucker punched to his gut. He knew he shouldn't feel this way, but he couldn't help it.

_**He**_** knew how impossible those girls were; he would understand. A little reassurance, I thought, opening it with a double-click. Just what I needed. After I scanned the first two lines, though, it was clear that my self-esteem and emotional well-being were, to Jason anyway, secondary.**

"I can't believe he would treat her that way, and she would still choose to be with him," Delia murmured incredulously.

"We have to fix this!" Kristy groaned, "I don't have a clue how, without telling her we read and entire book about her life, a total invasion of privacy by the way, but somehow we have to break them up."

"Or," Bert said smiling at Wes, "we could just leave that up to Wes."

Wes just looked down, he had never been more conflicted in his life, he decided right then and there he would leave his decision to marinate until the end of the book. Then he'd decide, and of course Macy would have a say in that as well.

_**After our last email**_**, her wrote, **_**I'm concerned that you're not putting your full attention into the job. Two full paragraphs about the info desk, but you didn't answer the question I asked you: did the new set of scientific **_**Monthly Anthologies **_**come in? Have you been able to access the tri-county database with my password?**_

There was a moment of pause; Delia refused to read anymore, everyone just sat in outraged silence. This so-called perfect guy, was too perfect to care, even for a second, about the horrible treating's, by his so-called friends at his JOB, of his OWN girlfriend!

Finally Delia spoke, "Your right Kristy, We have to do something, anything."

Everyone nodded and she finally started reading again.

**Then after a couple of reminders about other things it was crucial I attend to, this: **_**If you're having problems with Bethany and Amanda, you should address them directly. There's no place in a working environment for these impersonal issues**_**. He didn't sound like my boyfriend as much as middle management. Clearly I was on my own.**

"Good you realized that, now dump him," Kristy smiled hoplessly.

"**Honey?" I looked up. Across the table, my mother was looking at me with a concerned expression, her fork poised over her face. We always ate at the dining room table, even though it was just the two of us. It was part of the ritual, ass was the rule that she fixed the entrée, I did the salad or vegetable, and we lit the candles, for ambiance. We also ate at six sharp, and afterwards she rinsed the dishes and loaded them in the dishwasher, while I wiped down the counters and picked up the leftovers.**

"It sounds so cold, like routine after routine, no personality what-so-ever," Bert shivered.

"There probably isn't any," Kristy said quietly.

**When we'd been four instead of two, Caroline and my dad had represented the sloppy, easygoing faction. With them gone, my mother and I kept things neat and organized. I could spot a crumb on the countertop from a mile off, and so could she. "Yes?" I said. "Are you okay?" As I did every time she asked this, I wish I could answer her honestly. There was so much I wanted to tell my mother,**

"She should just tell her, it would help them to finally just talk it out," Delia said warmly.

**Like how much I missed my dad, how much I still thought about him. But I'd been doing so well, as far as everyone was concerned, for so long, that it seemed like it would be a failure of some sort to admit otherwise.**

"It wouldn't be failure to admit you missed your dad," Bert said softly, all of this reading just served to remind him about how much he missed his mom.

"No its not, that's strength," Wes said patting him on the shoulder.

**As with so much else, I'd missed my chance.**

Delia shook her head disagreeing, "Grief doesn't work that way, and it's going to hit her eventually, no matter how hard she keeps pushing it away."

**I'd never really allowed myself to mourn, just jumped from shocked to fine-just-fine, skipping everything in between. But now, I wished I had sobbed for my dad Caroline-style, straight from the gut. I wished that in the days after the funeral, when our house filled with relatives and too many casseroles and everyone had spent days grouped around the kitchen table, coming and going, eating and telling great stories about my dad, I'd joined in instead of standing in the doorway, holding myself back, shaking my head whenever anyone saw me and offered to pull out a chair. More than anything, though, I wished I'd walked into my mother arms, the few times she'd tried to pull me close, and pressed my face into her chest, letting my sad heart find solace there.**

Delia was a second away from crying so Wes stopped for a second, letting her compose herself back together. Being pregnant made you over hormonal, which in turn, made you overly emotional. But Wes had to admit, everyone was sort of on the very of tears **(**_**Especially me, =.( !) **_

**But I hadn't. I wanted to help her, not be a burden, so I held back. And after a while, she stopped offering. She thought I was beyond that, when I in fact needed it now more than ever. My dad had always been the affectionate of the two of them, known for his tight-to –the-point-of-crushing Bear hugs, and the way he ruffled my hair as he passed by.**

Delia had succumbed to tears, "I wish we could have met him before he died."

"He was awesome as a coach, I know that for sure," Bert smiled at her hoping to lightened her spirits. She gave a watery smile back.

**It was part of his way of filling a room. I always felt close to him, even when there was distance between us. My mom and I just weren't that effusive. As with Jason, I knew she loved me, even if the signs were subtle: a pat on my shoulder as she passed; her hand smoothing down my hair; the way she seemed to always be able to tell, with one glance, when I was tired or hungry. But sometimes I longed for that sense of someone pulling me close, feeling another heartbeat against mine, even though I'd often squirmed when my dad grabbed hold and threatened to squeeze the life out of me.**

"Parents are always doing that," Delia chuckled.

"Mom used to do it, even when her arms could barely fit around me anymore," Wes chuckled at the memory.

**It was another thing I'd never thought I'd missed, but did. "I'm just tired," I told my mother now. She smiled, nodding: this she understood. "Tomorrow will be better." "That's right," she replied, with certainty. I wondered if hers was an act, too, or if she really believed this. It was so hard to tell. "Of course it will."**

"I think she probably was trying to convince herself it would," Delia said thoughtfully.

"Why? It's not like she had to work there," Bert shrugged.

"Even in the broken state that her mom is in right now, no parent wants their child to suffer."

**After dinner, I went up to my room and, after a few false starts and a fair amount of deleting, composed what I thought was a heartfelt yet not too cloying email to Jason. I answered all his questions about the job, and attached, as requested, a copy of the school recycling initiatives he'd implemented, which he wanted to show to someone he'd met at camp. Then, and only then, did I allow myself to cross from administrative to the personal.**

"There should be no administrative in a relationship," Kristy huffed.

Wes was just hoping they'd find the resolution to this Jason thing quickly before Kristy drives to that brain camp and guts him.

_**I know it may seem petty to you, all this info desk drama, **_**I wrote. **_**But I guess I just really miss you, and I'm lonely, and it's hard to go to a place where you're so spectacularly unwelcome. I'll just be really happy when you're home.**_

** "**Something tells me, this email won't go over very well with him, it's too human for his coldness," Bert mused.

"Actually I kind of agree with you,"

**This, I told myself, was the equivalent of touching his shoulder, or resting my knee against his as we watched TV. When you only had words, you had to make up for things, say what you might not need to otherwise. In fact, I felt so sure of this, took it a step further, closing with **_**I love you, Macy.**_

"I think that's the end of their relationship," Bert smirked, albeit sadly.

"I think so too," Wes couldn't hide the fact that he was both happy and irritated. Irritated, that this jerk with a beautiful, smart, warm yet broken hearted girlfriend, would darn dump her over something this stupid. It was completely and utter bullshit. The guy was and idiot. As far as the happy feelings went, well, that on hold until the end of the book.

**Then I hit the send button before I had a chance to change my mind. With that done, I walked over to my window, pushing it open and crawled outside. It had rained earlier, one of those quick summer storms,**

"I love those," Bert smiled ,"They help me sleep at night, plus mom use to like running in them, remember?"

"Of course," Wes chuckled, "she'd come back into the house soaking wet, but with the brightest smile on her face."

"Then she would grab one of us to go back out with her." Bert finished still smiling his face looking out the window. Kristy and Delia laughed then sighed, it was nice talking about their mom, it made the room feel lighter and almost as if she was there.

**And everything was still dripping and cool. I sat on the sill, propping my bare feet on the shingles. It was the best view, from my roof. You could see Wildflower Ridge, and even beyond, to the lights of the Lakeview Mall and the University bell tower in the distance.**

"Wow, that _is_ a great view," Kristy said in awe, " That house must be really tall."

"It is, it's incredible," Bert said appreciatively. Wes and Delia nodded their heads in agreement.

**In our old house, my bedroom had been distinct for a different reason.**

"Not that Bert get your head out of the gutter," Wes groaned glaring at him.

"Hey!" Bert shouted, though his blush gave him away, "I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to, I know that face anywhere, it your perverted smile," Wes laughed at him. Bert just shot a pillow at him, with he dodged easily, Bert has terrible aim.

**It had been the only window that faced the street and a tree with branches close enough to step onto. Because of this, it got a lot of use.**

Wes looked up confused, "I didn't peg her for the sneak out kind of girl."

Kristy shrugged, " Me either really but who knows, she might have been different before her dad died."

Wes shrugged and continued.

**Not from me, but from Caroline.**

"Now that makes a lot more sense," Bert nodded, "she's the one who's like Kristy."

"I don't sneak out," Everyone shot Kristy a withered look of disbelief, "fine! I don't sneak out a lot."

That wasn't true either, but they let it go.

**She was wild. There was no other word for it. From seventh grade on, when she went, in my mother words, "Boy crazy," keeping Caroline under control was a constant battle. There were groundings. Phone restrictions. Cuttings off of allowance, driving privileges. Locks on the liquor cabinet. Sniff test at the front door. These were played out, in high dramatic form, over dinners and breakfasts, in stomping of feet and raising of voices across living rooms and kitchens. **

"Wow they really did try everything," Delia chuckled.

**But other transgressions and offenses were more secret. Private. Only I was witness to those, always at night, usually from the comfort of my own bed. I'd be half sleeping, and my bedroom door would creak open, then close quickly. I'd hear the pat-pat of bare feet across the floor, then hear her drop her shoes on the carpet. Next, I'd feel the slight weight as she stepped onto my bed. "Macy," she'd whisper, softly but firmly. "Quiet. Okay?"**

"Invoking the good old sister code," Kristy smiled looking over at Monica who stared blankly back at her.

"Bettaquit," Monica said and turned her face back to the book. Wes and to put his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing.

**She'd step over my head, then hoist herself over up on the sill that ran over my bed, slowly pushing open the window. "You're going to get in trouble," I'd whisper. She'd stick her feet out the window. "Hand me my shoes," she's say, and when I did she'd toss them out onto the grass, where I'd hear them land with a distant, muted **_**thunk**_**. "Caroline."**

"I like her sister," Kristy smirked

"Of course you do," Wes snorted, "She you, only, in a book."

**She'd turn and look at me. "Shut it behind me, don't lock it, I'll be back in an hour. Sweet dreams, I love you." And then she'd disappear off to the left, where I'd hear her easing herself down the oak tree, branch by branch. When I sat up to shut the window she was usually crossing the lawn, her footsteps leaving dark spots in the grass, shoes tucked under his arm. By the stop sign a block down, a car was usually waiting. It was always more than an hour, sometimes several,**

"Well of course, time flies, when you're having fun," Kristy said dreamily.

"Or torturing so-called "_Extraordinary_" boys," Bert snickered. Wes rolled on the floor laughing while Kristy wondered if she could get away with murdering them.

**Before she appeared on the other side of the window, pushing it back up and tumbling on top of me. All businesslike in the leaving, my sister was usually sloppy and sentimental, smelling of beer and sweet smoke, upon her return. She was often so sleepy she didn't want to go back to her own room, instead just pushing her way under my blankets, shoes still on, makeup smearing my pillowcases.**

Wes winced, he could understand this too, he often was the target when Becky had been out all night partying, and needed a place to safely come down from her high. So he would drag her off the porch and put her in his bed to sleep and would sleep on the coach. She'd be gone by the time he woke up, but he could smell the drugs and alcohol on his pillows and sheets.

**Sometimes she was crying, but she would never tell me why. Instead she'd just fall asleep beside me, and I'd doze in fits and spells before shaking her awake as the sun was rising and pushing her back to her own room, so she wouldn't be discovered. Then I'd crawl back into bed, smelling her all around me, telling myself that next time, I would lock that window. But I never did.**

Wes nodded. He had kept trying to convince himself not to let Becky in, to keep her out so that she would have to face her parents. So they could get her help. He, too, never did though. When she came, he just put her in his bed and washed his sheets in the morning just as always. He wondered to himself if she wouldn't have been where she was today if had said no. Probably, but she would have been put in earlier, and better by now. No use in dwelling on it, it far too late for that anyway.

**By the time we moved to Wildflower Ridge, Caroline was in college. She was still going out all the time, sometimes way late, but my parents had given up trying to stop her. Instead, in exchange for her living at home while she attended the local university and waited tables at the country club, the required only that she kept her GPA above 3.0.**

"That seems like the best compromise," Delia nodded in approval," if they had no other choice let her run wild but keep her future in check."

"So does that mean I can," Bert smirked.

"Not a chance, because unlike them," Delia said motioning at the books, "Me and Wes will skin your behind." Wes nodded in agreement. Bert swallowed nervously.

"I was just kidding," Bert gulped out.

**And make her entrances and exists as quietly as possible. She didn't need to use my window, which was a good thing, because in the new house there was not a tree nearby and the drop was a lot farther. After my dad died, she sometimes didn't come home at all. My mind would race with awful possibilities, picturing her dead on the highway, but the truth was actually much more innocuous. By then, she'd already fallen hard for Wally from Raleigh, the once-divorced up-and-coming lawyer ten years her senior she'd been seeing for a while.**

"Wow, ten years really," Kristy frowned, "yeah, that not me at all."

"I will agree with you there," Wes shrugged, Kristy did many things, but dating guys super older than her was not one of them. Two maybe three years sure, But Ten, not a chance, those type guys creeped her out.

**She'd kept him, like so much else, a secret from our parents, but after the funeral things got more serious, and before long, he asked her to marry him. All of this took longer than it sounds, summing it up. But at the time it seemed fast, really fast.**

"I can imagine," Bert mused, "I don't know what I would've done if when mom died, Wes came home with a mystery girlfriend. Then, just a few months later their engaged to be married."

Wes grimaced, "I would have never done that."

**One day Caroline was tumbling in my window; the next I was standing at the front of a church, all too aware of my uncle Mike walking her down the aisle toward Wally. People made their comments, of course, about Caroline just needing a father figure, and how she was too young, getting married right after graduation.**

"People really should mind their own business," Delia huffed.

"Like we are now," Bert said jerking his head toward the book, " reading someone else's private life story."

Delia looked down guiltily. Wes interrupted, "We were meant to read it, it was sent to us, we are not doing anything wrong by reading it."

"Mmmm-humm," Monica supplied.

Delia, Kristy, and Bert nodded though Delia still felt a little guilty.

**But she adored Wally, anyone could see that, and the quick nature of the wedding planning made it that much more of a happy distraction for all of us that spring. Plus, and best of all, their shared conviction that this had to be Best Wedding Ever finally gave Caroline and my mother a solid common ground, and they'd gotten along pretty well ever since.**

"Weddings have ways of bringing people together," Delia delighted.

"I thought they just served to make single people feel lousy," Bert laughed.

"Well," Delia shrugged, "that too."

**So after all that rebellion in her teens, my sister turned out to be surprisingly efficient, bagging a college diploma and a husband all within the same month. Now, as Mrs. Wally Thurber, she lived in Atlanta, in a big house on a cul-de-sac where you could hear a highway roaring twenty-four hours a day.**

"I could never live there," Delia frowned scrunching up her face, "I need my sleep, and once the baby comes, that would be a nightmare."

**It was climate controlled, with a top-of-the-line thermostat system. She never had to open a window for anything.**

"Well I guess, that helps," Delia relented.

**As for me, I wasn't much for sneaking out, first because I was a jock and always had early practice, and then because Jason and I just didn't do stuff like that. I could only imagine how he'd react if I asked him to pick me up after midnight at the stop sign. Why? He'd say.**

"I don't know? Maybe to spend time with you," Kristy muttered infuriated that Jason was back in the story again.

**Nothing would be open, I have yoga in the morning, God, Macy, honestly. And so on. He'd be right, of course. The sneaking out, the partying, all those long nights doing God-knows-what, were Caroline's thing. She's taken them with her when she left, and there was no place for them here now. At least in my mind. "Macy," she'd say whenever she called and found me home on a Friday night, "What are you doing? Why aren't you out?" When I tell her I was studying, or doing some work for school, she'd exhale so loudly I'd have to hold the phone away from my ear. "You're young! Go out and live, for God sakes! There's time for that later!"**

Kristy clapped her hands and bowed repeatedly at the book. It looks like she's back on the Caroline bandwagon.

**My sister, unlike most of her new friends in the garden club and Junior League, did not gloss over her vivid past, maintaining instead that it had been crucial to her development as a person. In her view, my own development in this area was entirely too slow-going, if not completely arrested.**

"I'm sure to her it was," Delia chuckled.

"Compared to her sister, we all are slow-going," Bert snickered, "well except for Kristy."

"No," Kristy sighed, "I think, she had even me beat."

"**I'm fine," I'd tell her, like I always did. "I know you are, that's the problem.**

"She lost me here," Bert said a look of confusion written across his face.

Wes shrugged he wasn't sure either.

**You're a **_**teenager**_**, Macy," she'd say, as if I weren't aware of this or something. "You're supposed to be hormonal and crazy and emotional and wild. This is the best time of your life! You should be living it!" So I'd swear that I was going out the next night, and she'd tell me she loved me, and then I'd hang up and go back to my SAT book, or my ironing, or the paper that wasn't due for another two weeks. Or sometimes I'd crawl out onto the roof and remember her wild days and wonder if I really was missing something. Probably not.**

"Yes you are!" Kristy huffed, "but just wait until we see you again, I'll fix that."

Wes rolled his eyes, "I don't think so, somehow I think her stubbornness will outweigh your eagerness, and over enthusiasm."

"We'll see about that."

**But the roof was still a nice spot, at any rate. Even if my adventures in the outside world, my God-knows-what, started and ended there. Work despite my mother's assurances, did not improve.**

"Big surprise there," Kristy muttered.

**In fact, I'd come to realize that the cold treatment I'd received initially was actually Bethany and Amanda being **_**nice**_**. **

"Say what," Kristy shouted in shock.

"How is that even possible?" Bert questioned.

"I have no idea," Wes said in surrender to their glares at him and the book.

**Now they hardly spoke to me at all, while keeping me as idle as possible.**

"Well then quit," Kristy huffed," or tell those ungrateful bit-"

"Don't even think about it," Delia put up her hand in authority. Kristy groaned and turned away.

**By Friday, I'd had enough silence to last me a lifetime. Which was too bad for me, because my mother was down at the coast for a weekend developer meet-and-greet conference. I had the entire house, every silent inch of it, to myself for two full days.**

"Maybe we could go keep her company," Kristy mused.

"Yeah, just go into her house like hey, I know you don't know me but we knew you were lonely and board and figure we'd stop by," Bert snickered.

Kristy stuck her tongue out at him

**She'd invited me to come along, offering the opportunity to lie on the beach or by the pool, all that fun summer beach stuff. But we both knew I'd say no,**

"Why?" Kristy asked, not annoyed just honestly curious.

**And I did. It was just one more thing that reminded me of my dad.**

"She can't avoid grieving forever," Delia sighed sadly, "especially not when almost everything reminds her of him."

"Well, it looks like she's going to try," Bert said but not with his usual humor. Wes was beginning to wonder what toll this story was taking on him.

**We had a house at the beach, in a little town called Colby that was just over the bridge. It was a true summer house, with shuttered that creaked when the wind blew hard, and a front porch that was always covered in the thinnest layer of sand. While we all went down for the big summer weekends, it was mostly my dad's place. He'd bought it before he met my mom, and all the bachelor torches pretty much remained. There was a dart board on the pantry door, a moose head over the fireplace, and the utensil drawer had everything my dad considered crucial to get by: a beer opener, a spatula, and a sharp fillet knife.**

"Nice," Bert smiled appreciatively. Wes clapped his hand on Bert's back and smiled, happy that he regained his good humor. The girls all rolled their eyes, of course they would love that.

**Half the time the stove was on the fritz, not that my dad even noticed unless my mom was there. As long as the grill was gassed up and working, he was happy. It was his fishing shack, the place he took his buddies to catch red drum in October, mahi-mahi in April, Bluefin tuna in December.**

"Want me to teach you how to fish?" Wes asked Bert who looked up in surprise.

"You know how?"

"Mom taught me when I was really little," Wes smiled down at him.

"No fishing," Delia said apologetically, "You boys will have ended up splicing your fingers off fooling around with fishing hooks and bait."

"You worry too much," Wes chuckled, "just once? We promise we'll be extra careful."

Wes winked at Delia and she rolled her eyes, "Fine. But if I have to send anyone to the hospital for stitches, you won't see any fish other than fish sticks for the rest of your lives."

"Deal." Both Wes and Bert said smiling in anticipation.

**My dad always came home with a hangover, a coolerful of fish already cleaned, and a sunburn despite the SPF 45 my mom always packed for him. He loved every minute of it. **

Every member of wish catering were laughing the heads off trying to picture her dad hung over and sunburned with a ton of fish and a smile.

**I wasn't allowed on these trips-they were, traditionally, estrogen-free-but he often took me down on other weekends, when he needed to work on the house or just felt like getting away. We'd cast off from the beach or take his boat out, play checkers by the fire, and go to this hole-in-the-wall place called the Last Chance,**

"Hey, I've been there," Delia beamed at the book, "It's this great diner down by the coast, they have some of the best coffee, and they are open twenty-four-hours."

"You'll have to take me sometime," Wes said thoughtfully, it sounded a lot like his favorite place. Hopefully the food tastes as good.

"Sure," She smiled back to him.

**Where the waitresses knew him by name and the hamburgers were the best I'd ever tasted. More than our old house, or our Wildflower Ridge place, the beach shack **_**was**_** my dad. I knew if he was haunting any place, it would be there, and for that reason I'd stayed away. None of us had been down, in fact, since he died.**

"I bet that's where they need to go to deal with things and so they can still fell close to him too," Delia thought.

**His old Chevy truck was still there, locked in the garage, and the spare key it was always my job to fish out from the conch shell under the back porch had probably not been touched either. I knew my mom would probably sell the house and the truck eventually, but she hadn't yet.**

Delia bit her lip, and scrunched her face into a worried frown, "I hope they don't, they can't keep selling off her father's things this way."

"I think the fact that her mom hasn't, means she probably can't bear to part with it either," Kristy said in a comforting voice.

**So on Friday afternoon, I came home to find the house completely and totally quiet. This would be good, I told myself. I had a lot of stuff I wanted to get done this weekend: emails to send out, research on collages to do, and my closet had gotten really cluttered. Maybe this would be the perfect time to organize my winter sweaters and give some stuff to the thrift shop. Still, the silence was a bit much, so I walked over and turned on the TV, then went upstairs to my room to the radio,**

"I can't even blame her, a too quiet house makes me nervous," Delia shivered.

**Flipping past the music channels until I landed on a station where someone was blathering on about science innovations in our century.**

"Blah, that's so boring, this girl seriously needs my help," Kristy said sternly.

**Even with all those voices going, though, I was acutely aware that I was alone. Luckily, I got proof otherwise when I checked my email and there was one from Jason. By the second line, though, I knew a bad week had just gotten much, much worse.**

"Oh no," Delia hung her head looking like she might cry again.

"He is such a jerk, she finally shows her feelings for him and all he does is break up with her in an email! He does not deserve her at all!" Kristy shouted horrified.

"That guy better watch out, Kristy going to kill him if she ever sees him," Bert chuckled then added, "though if he has broken up with her, he probably deserves it."

Wes said nothing, again he was conflicted, part of him was happy, this meant, by next time he saw her would be free to be with her. He was pissed that this Jerk would hurt her just for expressing her feelings to him. And he felt guilty, because he though she would be free, he still technically wasn't, and was still conflicted even further about whether or not he should really break up with Becky. He kept this all to himself, inside he was exploding.

_**Macy, I've taken some time before writing back, because I wanted to be clear and sure of what I was going to say. It's been a concern of mine for a while that we've been getting too serious, **_

"Too serious! They barely touch," Kristy said incredulously.

_**And since I've been gone I've been thinking hard about our perspective needs and whether our relationship is capable of filling them. I care about you, but your increasing dependence on me- made evident by the closing of you last email- has forced me to really think about what level of commitment I can make to our relationship. I care about you very much,**_

"That is completely ridiculous, quite frankly that wasn't a loss at all," Wes said out loud, surprising everyone.

Kristy quickly recovered, "Your right, she never had him, and she can do, and will do, a thousand times better."

Wes knew what she was getting at by the look she gave him. He ignored her, she couldn't make his decisions for him, only he could.

_**But this academic year is crucial in terms of my ideological and academic goals, and I cannot take on a more serious commitment. I will have to be very focused, as I'm sure you will be, as well. In view of all these things, I think it's best for us to take a break from our relationship, and each other, until I return at the end of the summer. It will give us both some time to think, so that in august we'll know better whether we want the same things, or if it's best to sever ties and this break permanent.**_

"God he's so heartless," Bert frowned, "I can't believe he said it like that."

"I know it's so verbatim, clinical, cold," Kristy shivered in emphasis.

_**I'm sure you can agree with what I've said here:**_

"If she does I'll smack her," Kristy growled.

_**It just makes sense. I think it's the best solution for both of us.**_ ** Read it through once, then, still in shock, again.**

"So he's going to string her along all summer in a half relationship until he decide whether or not he'll just completely get rid of her?" Wes looked around for a confirmation.

"That's what it sounds like, unfortunately," Delia frowned at the book in disappointment, "I hope she'll be alright."

"That guy is a jackass," for once even Delia agreed.

**This isn't happening, I thought. But it was. The world was still turning: if I needed any proof, there was the radio across the room, from which I could hear headlines. A war in some Baltic country. Stocks down. And there I sat, staring at the flickering screen, at these words. Words that, like the first ones Jason had read to me from **_**Macbeth**_**, were slowly starting to make awful sense. A break. I knew what that meant:**

"We all do unfortunately," Kristy smiled sadly.

**It was what happened before something was officially and finally broken. Finished. Regardless of the language, it was most likely I was out, all for saying **_**I love you.**_** I'd thought we'd said as much to each other in the last few months, even if we hadn't said it aloud. Clearly I'd been wrong.**

"No, clearly, he's a prick," Kristy smiled evilly.

**I could feel my sudden aloneness in my gut, like a punch, and I sat back in a chair, dropping my hands from the key-board, now aware of how empty the room, the house, the neighborhood, the world, was all around me. It was like being on the other side of a frame and seeing the camera pull back, showing me growing smaller, smaller, smaller still until I was just a speck, a spot, gone.**

"She is so much more than that," Delia moaned.

"If anything she got bigger now that, that jerk is gone," Kristy huffed.

**I had to get out of there. So I got in my car and drove. And it helped. I don't know why, but it did.**

"Driving helps to clear your mind," Wes nodded.

**I wound through Wildflower Ridge, cresting the hills and circling the ground that had just been broken for the newest phase, then ventured farther, onto the main road and towards the mall. I drove in silence, since every song on the radio was either someone shrieking (not good for my nerves) or someone wailing about lost love (not good, period). **

"For so many different reasons," Kristy muttered.

**In the quiet I'd been able to calm down as I focused on the sound of the engine, of gear shifting, brakes slowing, all things that, at least for now, were working just as they were supposed to. On my way back, traffic was thick, everyone out for their Friday night. At stoplights I looked at the cars around me, taking in families with kids in cars seats, probably headed home from dinner, and college kids in club make up, blasting the radio and dangling cigarettes out their open windows.**

"Smoking is a terrible habit," Delia said pointedly at Wes.

"Trust me I know," Wes muttered. He'd been saying the same thing to Becky for as long as he could remember. He had no interest in it himself that was true.

**In the middle lane, surrounded by all these strangers, it seemed even more awful that I was going back to an empty house, up to my room, to face my computer screen to face Jason's email. I could just him typing it out at his laptop, so methodical, somewhere between condensing the notes he'd taken that day and logging on to his environmental action Listservs. **

"I don't care how perfect he acts, he's still a jerk," Kristy said crossing her arms.

**To him, I was a commitment that had become more of a burden than an asset, and his time was too precious to waste. Not that I had to worry about that. From now on, clearly, I would have plenty of time on my hands.**

"You sure will," Kristy smiled, "you're coming to work with us, most of our events are at night."

Wes was a little excited about this himself.

**As I approached the next intersection, I saw the wishbone.**

"And we're back!" Kristy threw her fist in the air, like we had just won the super bowl. Wes rolled his eyes.

**Same bold black strokes, same white van. It was passing in front of me now, and I could see Delia driving, someone else in the passenger seat.**

"Yay, I'm there this time," Kristy beamed.

**I watched them move across the intersection, bumping over the slight dip in the middle. **Wish**, it said on the back, two letter on each door.**

Bert, Delia, and Wes smiled to each other knowing they had named it after their mother Wish.

**I am not a spontaneous person.**

"That's never been more true," Kristy muttered.

**But when you're alone in the world, really alone, you have no choice but to be open to suggestions. Those four letters, like the ones that I'd written to Jason, had many meanings and no guarantees. Still, as the van turned onto a side street, I read that **wish** again. It seemed as good a time as any to believe,**

"Yes, it's beyond as good a time as any," Delia smiled excitedly.

**So when my light dropped to green, and I could go, I put myself in gear and followed them.**

"She is our now, so during our next gig, we will meet Macy," Kristy clapped.

"I hope you're not so creepy you scare her off," Bert sighed.

"Well," Wes supplied," We are going to read about it, we could just play it the same as in the book."

"That might be a good idea, let's just read and find out," Delia said, "That was the end of the chapter who reads next?"

"I will," Bert stood up, taking the book from Delia.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: I do **Not** own _The Truth about Forever_ or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.

Chapter 5

"**Chapter 4," **Bert read.

"**So I say, I know that you're not insulting my outfit. I mean, I can take a lot-already have taken a lot-but I won't tolerate that. You're my sister. You know. A girl has to draw the line somewhere, right?"**

"Really Kristy?" Wes smirked.

"Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that," Kristy huffed irritated, "I'll tell you about it later Monica."

"Bettaquit."

Delia rolled her eyes and Bert coughed to hide his laugh.

**Okay, I thought. Maybe this was a bad Idea.**

Everyone turned to glare at Kristy. She hid behind a pillow.

**After almost turning back three times, two drive-bys and one final burst of courage, I was standing in front of the Mckimmon house, a mansion in the historical district.**

"Nice," Bert nodded appreciatively, "how did we get that?"

"Oh," Delia smiled, "well, they were desperate because their wedding planner waited until the last minute to hire a caterer. Apparently she was the groom's dim-witted half-sister, anyway, long story short, her mistake got us a job in four days."

"Well me and Bert have to go and get his license and car, it's his birthday," Wes hit Bert playfully on his shoulder. Delia sighed, that meant they were going to be short, at least thanks to Macy they will only be down one, she still smiled happily at Bert. He was growing up so fast; she wished his mother could see him.

"That also means we have four days to read the book," Kristy noted.

"Let's get to it," Bert said pulling the book back up.

**In front of me was the Wish Catering van, now parked crookedly against the curb, the back doors flung open to reveal several racks of serving pans, blocks of packaged napkins, and a couple of dented rolling carts. Inside, I could hear a girl's voice.**

"If it was that loud, it was definitely Kristy," Bert smirked.

"One, we already know it was me, because she didn't know my name, and she met all of you the other night," Kristy glared at him, "and second, I do not talk loud, she was just standing next to the van."

"Actually," Wes chimed in but was silenced by a glare from Kristy. The phrase if looks could kill wasn't even close to being good enough to describe this look. More like, if looks could fry you to ash, and then melt the remaining dust to soup, would have been more accurate.

"**So I do it: I draw the line.**

"You have a line?" Bert snickered.

"Bettaquit," Monica murmured before Kristy could lung at him.

**Which means, in the end, that I have to walk, like, two miles in my new platform sandals, which gave me blisters you would not believe," she continued, her voice ringing out over the quiet of the street.**

"I can't believe he made me walk," Kristy muttered angrily.

"If he really did that, he wasn't good enough for you anyway," Delia smiled comfortingly.

"Thanks," Kristy smiled back warily, Delia's right, plus that guy was far from extraordinary anyway.

"**I mean, we are talking deserted roads, no cars passing, and all I could think was-grab those spoons, no, not those, the other ones, right there-**

"Okay, all you could think about was work?" Bert said confused.

"No," Kristy said hitting him in the back of the head, "I'm probably telling Monica to do that idiot."

"Ohh," Bert said blushing in embarrassment.

**That this has got to be the worst first date **_**ever**_**. You know?" I took a step back, retreating. What had I been thinking, anyway? I started to turn back to my car, thinking at least it wasn't too late to change my mind.**

Everyone turned to glare at Kristy again.

"Oh, come on," Kristy groaned throwing up her hands, "I didn't she was there obviously it's not my fault."

**Just then, though, a girl walked to the open doors of the van and saw me. She was small, with a mass f blonde ringlets spilling down her back, and with on look, I just knew it was she I'd heard. It was what she had on that made it obvious:**

"Oh Lord, what were you wearing this time," Delia groaned looking at Kristy exasperatedly.

"I keep to the dress code," Kristy smiled innocently, though she was far from innocent on this issue.

"Please," Delia said rolling her eyes, "I don't know what dress code you're going, by but sure ain't mine."

**A short, shiny black skirt, a white blouse with a plunging neck, tied at the waist and thigh high black boots with a think heel. She had on bright red lipstick, and her skin, pale and white, was glittering in the glow of the streetlight.**

"It's not bad this time," Delia sighed, "but you could do without the plunging neck, thigh high boots, and red lipstick."

"For saying it's not that bad, you just disapproved of half the description," Bert snickered. Delia just shook her head at him.

"**Hey," she said, seeing me, then turned her back and grabbed a pile of dishtowels before hopping out of the van. "Hi," I said. There was more I was going to say, entire words, maybe even a sentence.**

"Then why didn't you," Bert snickered. Kristy bit her lip; she hoped it wasn't what she thinks it was.

**But for some reason I just froze, as if I'd gotten this far and now could go no further. She didn't seem to notice, was too busy grabbing more stuff out of the van while humming under her breath. When she turned around and saw me still standing there, she said, "You lost or something?"**

"Don't be rude Kristy," Delia sighed.

"I wasn't," Kristy said defensively, "she was probably just standing there staring like a creeper, I didn't know her, I was probably creeped out that she wasn't saying anything."

**Again I was stuck for an answer. But this time, it was for a different reason. Her face, which before had been shadowed by the van, was no full of light, and my eyes were immediately drawn to two scars: One, faint and curving along her jaw line, like an underscore of her mouth, and the other by her right temple, snaking down to her ear. **

Kristy sighed, she wished people could see past them but she couldn't blame anyone, plus by now, she was getting used to it.

**She also had bright blue eyes and rings on every finger, and smelled like watermelon bubble-gum, but these things were things I noticed later. The scars, at first, were all I could see. Stop staring, I told myself, horrified at my behavior.**

"She didn't have to be, honestly, I understand," Kristy smiled sadly. Bert for his part kept his mouth shut, sure he joked with Kristy all the time, but she was like a big sister to him, and he didn't want to hurt her by being a jerk now.

**The girl, for her part, didn't even seem to notice, or be bothered. She was just waiting, patiently, for an answer. "Um," I said finally, forcing the words out, "I was looking for Delia?" **

"Good," Delia smiled nodding her head, "She will be a lovely addition to the crew."

"That is, if we don't scare her off the first night," Bert laughed.

**The front door of the van slammed shut, and, a second later Monica, the slow girl from my mother's party, appeared. She was carrying a cutting board, which, by the expression of wariness on her face, must have weighed about a hundred pounds. She blew her bangs out of her face as she shuffled along the curb, taking her time. The blonde girl glanced at her. "Serving forks, too, Monotone, okay?"**

"Bettaquit," Monica said shooting Kristy a bland glare.

"What, we needed the forks, and you were already on your way up," Kristy huffed.

**Monica stopped, then turned herself around slowly-a sort of human three-point turn-and disappeared back behind the van at the same snail's pace. "Delia's up at the house, in the kitchen," the girl said to me now, shifting the towels to her other arm. "It's up at the top of the drive, around back." "Oh," I said, as Monica reappeared; now carrying the cutting boards and a few large forks. "Thanks."**

"You're welcome," Kristy smiled and chuckled.

"You do realize she can't hear you, right?" Bert laughed at Kristy's overly bouncy expression.

"You do realize, if I was related to you, I would have sold you on EBay years ago," Kristy fired back, smirking with satisfaction.

"Enough," Wes sighed, there constant fighting was exhausting.

**I started over to the driveway, getting about five feet before she called after me. "If you're headed up there anyway," she said, "would you please please please take something with you? We're running late-and it's kind of my fault, if you want to know the whole truth-**

"Why is that not surprising," Bert muttered, thinking about how long it takes for her to just get ready to go out with them, let alone work an event.

**So you'd really be helping me out. If you don't mind." "Sure," I said. I came back down the driveway, passing Monica, who was muttering to herself, along the way. At the back of the van, the blonde girl had pulled out two of the wheeled carts and was piling foil pans onto them, one right after another. When she was done she stuck the towels on top of one, then rolled the other over to me.**

"Well that's quite a way to warm her up to us, by dumping stuff on her before she even asks for the job," Wes chuckled.

"I said we were running behind," Kristy rolled her eyes, "it was probably my only option."

"You also said it was your fault in the first place," Delia smirked.

"What is this?" Kristy huffed throwing her hands in the air and slapping them back in her lap, "gang up on Kristy day."

"Yes, yes it is," Bert nodded laughing.

"**This way," she said, and I followed her, pushing my cart, to the bottom of the driveway. There we stopped, looking up. It was steep, really steep. We could see Monica climbing it, about half way up: it looked like she was walking into the wind.**

Everyone groaned in unison, "Maybe I'll find a way to convince them to let us park higher up?" Delia said, the queen of optimism.

"Unless the guest are parking there," Bert muttered, and there goes the king of pessimism.

**The girl looked at me, then at the driveway again.**

"Probably trying to find a way out of having to climb it," Kristy groaned.

**I kept noticing her scars, then trying not to, which seemed to make it all the more obvious. "God," she said, sighing as she pushed her hair out of her face, "doesn't it seem, sometimes, that the whole damn world's uphill?" "Yeah," I said, thinking about everything that had already happened to me that night. "It sure does."**

"It really sucked that he put her on hold the night she comes to work with us," Kristy sighed.

"If he hadn't she probably wouldn't have," Wes pointed out.

"You heard what her job at the library was like, she would have come to us eventually," Kristy shrugged.

**She turned her head and looked at me, then smiled: it changed her whole face, like a spark lighting into a flame, everything brightening, and for a second I lost track of the scars altogether.**

"Oh, thank you," Kristy gushed beaming around the room while everyone nodded and chuckled. She really did have a lovely smile.

"**Oh well," she said, leaning over her cart and tightening her fingers around its handle. "At least we know the way back will be easy. Come on." Her name was Kristy Palmetto. We introduced ourselves about halfway up the hill, when we stopped, wheezing, to catch our breath. "Macy?" she'd said. "Like the store?"**

"Yep, " Kristy said answering her own question.

"**Yes," I replied. "It's a funny name, actually." "I like it," she said. "I intend to change my name as soon as I get to a place where nobody knows me, you know, where I can reinvent myself. I've always wanted to do that. I think I want to be a Veronique.**

"Yeah, no," Bert said shaking his head, "that would be ridiculous."

"Well, no one asked you," Kristy snapped.

**Or maybe Blanca. Something with flair, you know. Anybody can be a Kristy." Maybe, I thought, as she started to push her cart again. But even five minutes into our friendship, I knew that this Kristy was different.**

"I know, I have that effect on people," Kristy smiled flipping her hair back, " and ha! I was her first friend out of all of you."

"Whatever," Bert said rolling her eyes, "I'm sure she still will like me better."

"No," Kristy said smirking, "I'm sure Wes will beat us both."

Wes looked away, he so wasn't getting involved in this debate, he was still mulling over his feelings. But he was anxious to meet her all the same, maybe they would just end up friends, maybe that was the best option.

**As we came up to the side door it opened, and Delia stuck her head out. She had on a Wish Catering apron and there was a spot of flour on her cheek. "Are those the ham biscuits? Or the shrimp and grits?" "The biscuits," Kristy said, pushing her cart up against the side of the house and gesturing for me to do the same. "Or the shrimp."**

"Thanks for answering the question Kristy," Delia muttered sarcastically.

Kristy just shrugged, she didn't know either way so it didn't really matter now.

**Delia just looked at her. "It's definitely one or the other," Kristy said. "Definitely." Delia sighed, then came out and started peering into the various pans on the carts. Kristy leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. "That hills a killer," she said to Delia. "We've got to get the van up here or we'll never get everything in on time."**

"I'll definitely have to remember that," Delia said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, because I'm not carrying all our stuff up that steep hill," Kristy shivered.

"But who will be down there to meet Macy?" Bert questioned, and everyone looked thoughtful, "I mean despite Kristy's conversation, she the one that put Macy at ease in the first place and got her to come up into the house and now they are with Delia, so without her there, Macy will just leave."

"Fine, but Macy better be happy I'm doing this for her," Kristy practically growled annoyed.

"**If we'd left when we were supposed to," Delia said, lifting the lid of one pan, "we could have." "I said I was sorry!" Kristy said. To me she added, "I was having a fashion crisis. Nothing looked good. Nothing! Don't you hate when that happens?"**

"Ug, I know right," Kristy groaned.

"You know you're agreeing with yourself right," Bert smiled sarcastically, "I'm just trying to be sure."

Kristy lifted up her hand to flip him off, but Wes covered it before Delia saw, and started reading before they could fight some more.

"**And anyway," Delia continued ignoring this tangent, "they have strict rules about service vehicles up here by the garden. The grass is apparently very fragile."**

"Are you kidding me," Kristy snickered, rolling her eyes, "Who give a damn about the grass."

"Kristy, do I have to clean your mouth out with soup?" Delia glared.

"I'll pass," Kristy flinched.  
><strong>"So are my lungs," Kristy said. "And if we do it fast, they'll never notice." Monica appeared in the open door, holding a cookie sheet. "Mushrooms?" she asked. "Meatballs," Delia said without looking up. "Put three trays in, get another three ready." Monica turned her body slowly, glancing at the oven behind her. Then she looked at Delia again. "Meatballs," she repeated, like it was a foreign word. <strong>

"Oh Lord," Delia prayed, even though they weren't even there yet. Maybe if she prayed in advance they would have better luck.

"**Monica, you do this every weekend," Delia said. "Try to retain some knowledge, please God I'm begging you." **

"Hey," Kristy huffed protectively. That was still her sister, even though she sometimes acts a little different, "She retains knowledge, she was probably just irritated with me for holding things up."

Wes looked down at the next line and laughed.

"What?" Kristy asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Nothing," Wes said shaking his head.

"**She retains knowledge," Kristy said, a little defensively. "She's just mad at me for holding us up, and that's how she expresses it. She's not good with at being forthright about her emotions, you know that."**

"Oh," Kristy blushed embarrassed.

Everyone looked at Monica who was blinking blankly at the book. Yep, she definitely wasn't good with the emotions thing.

"**Then go help her, please," Delia said in a tired voice. "With the meatballs, not her emotions. Okay?" "Okay," Kristy said cheerfully, pulling open the door and going inside. Delia put her hand on the small of her back and looked at me. **

"We should have you sitting more," Wes muttered looking at her worriedly.

"I'm fine," she said waving him off. "If I sit more, nothing will get done. Then we will half to fork over half like last time."

"**Hi," she said, sounding a little surprised. "It's Macy, right?" "Yes," I said. "I know it's probably a bag time-"**

"That's an understatement, but you're here to help, so I can't complain," Delia smiled. "I'm just happy that she decided to come at all."

"Being pregnant is making you soft," Bert nodded smirking.

"No, she would be just the same if she wasn't pregnant," Kristy interjected before Delia could get involved.

Delia just shrugged at Kristy's comment, "Probably."

"**It's always a bad time," Delia said with a smile. "It's a bad business. But I chose it, so I can't really complain. What can I do for you?" "I just wondered," I said then stopped. I felt stupid now for holding her up, **

"Nonsense," Delia said rolling her eyes, she was sure there would be lots more hold-ups anyways, with their luck.

**When so much else was going on. Maybe she had just been being nice when she'd said she would hire me. **

"I probably wasn't," Delia said thoughtfully. She usually doesn't say that unless she means it. Which is why she sure she did, because she's never said it before to anyone.

**But then again, I was already here. I'd climbed that hill. The worst that could she could do was send me back down. "I just wondered," I said again, "if the offer still stood. About the job." Before Delia could answer, Kristy reappeared in the doorway. "Meatballs are in," she said. "Can I get the van now?" Delia looked down the driveway, then shot a glance at the front of the house. "Can **_**you**_**? No," she said.**

"Oh come on," Kristy moaned, "It's just up one tiny hill, into the driveway."

"For you, that just one disaster waiting to happen," Delia snapped back.

"Trust me," Kristy puppy dog pouted.

"I've learned a long time ago not to let that face get to me," Delia rolled her eyes.

"**It's just one hill." Kristy rolled her eyes. To me she said, "I'm a terrible driver. But the fact that I admit it, shouldn't that count for something?"**

"No," Delia smirked.

"**No," Delia said. She looked down the driveway, then at the house, as if weighing the pros and cons, before digging into the pocket of her apron to pull out some keys. "Once it's up here, unload fast," she said to Kristy. "And if anyone starts freaking pretend you had no idea about the about the rules." "What rules?" Kristy said, reaching for the keys. Delia shifted them out of her reach, holding them out to me instead. "And Macy drives. Period. NO argument." **

"I knew I wouldn't give in that easily," Delia said with a chuckle.

"Humph," Kristy crossed her arms annoyed.

"**Fine," Kristy said. "Let's just do it, okay?" She turned on her heel and started down the driveway, bouncing a bit with each step. Even from a distance, you couldn't help but watch her: maybe it was the boots or the hair or the short shirt, but somehow to me it was something else. Something so electric, alive, that I recognized it instantly, if only because I was so lacking it myself.**

"What is it?" Bert said curiously.

"I think its personality," Wes smiled at Kristy, "Kristy walks, talks, dresses, and breathes her personality into everything. Macy, by trying to avoid everything in her life because of her dad, has been pushing away every inch of her personality."

"I hope we can help her," Delia sighed rubbing her belly. She always rubs her belly when she's worrying about someone or something.

**Delia was watching her, too, a resigned expression on her face, before turning her attention back to me. "If you want a job, it's yours," she said, dropping the keys into my hand. "Payday's every other Friday, and you'll usually know your schedule a week in advance. You'll want to invest in a few pairs of black pants and some white shirts, if you don't have a few already, and we don't work on Mondays. There's probably more you need to know but we're off to a rocky start here, so I'll fill you in later. Okay?"**

"And Macy is officially a Wish!" Everybody cheered.

"Actually she won't be for another few days," Bert chuckled, "but yay, Macy's officially a Wish!"

"Idiot," Kristy snickered at him.

"**Sounds good," I said. Kristy, already halfway down the driveway, turned her head and looked up at us. "Hey, Macy!" she yelled. "Let's go!" Delia shook her head, pulling the screen door open. "Which is to say," she said to me, "Welcome aboard." At the library, I'd had two weeks of training. Here, it was two minutes.**

"We were short and desperate, those two minutes we probably didn't have," Delia sighed.

"**What's most important," Kristy said to me, as we stood side by side at the counter, piling mini ham biscuits onto trays, "is that you identify what are you are carrying and keep all crumpled napkins off your tray. No one will pick up anything and stick it in their mouth if it's next to a dirty napkin."**

"That would be disgusting," Kristy said scrunching up her nose.

"Yeah, I would probably gag if they did that," Bert agreed.

**I nodded, and she continued. "Here's what you need to remember," she continued, as Delia bustled past behind us, putting down another sheet of meatballs. "You don't exist. Just hold out your tray, smile, and say, "Ham biscuits with Dijon mustard" and move on. Try to be invisible." "Right," I said.**

"You could have said it nicer," Delia muttered. Kristy just shrugged she told her the truth either way.

"**What she means," Delia clarified from the stove, "is that as a server, it's your job to blend in and make the partygoer's experience as enjoyable as possible. You're not attending the event: you are facilitating it."**

"Kristy dresses like she's attending it," Bert snickered.

**Kristy handed me the tray of ham biscuits, plunking down a stack of napkins on its edge. This close to her, I still found my eyes wandering to her scars, but slowly I was getting use to them, my eyes drawn now to other things: the glitter on her skin, the two shiny hoops in each of her ears.**

"Kristy, you do not need to wear all that," Delia said seriously, "didn't we just say we are supposed to blend, and not create a scene."

"I am blending in," Kristy smiled innocently, "I'm just blending in with flare."

Delia was about to start yelling when Wes held up his hand, "You all can debate this later, lets read now."

They both huffed annoyed but turned back to the book without another word.

"**Work the edge of the room first. If you cross path with a gobbler, pause for only a second, then smile and keep moving, even if they're reaching after you." "Gobbler?" I said. "That's someone who will clear your whole tray if you let them. Here's the rule: two and move. When they reach for a third, you're gone." **

"It's easier said than done," Bert muttered.

Kristy nodded in agreement for once, Wes just smirked at them, he usually worked the bar, which meant that he dealt less with grabby people, and more with sloppy idiots.

"**If they don't let you more on," she continued, "then they cross over to grabber status, which is completely out-of-line behavior. Then you are wholly within your right to stomp on their foot."**

Delia shot Kristy a glare that could melt metal. Kristy shrank back and hid behind Wes, hiding was her natural response to that glare. Her only defense.

"**No," Delia said, looking over her shoulder. "Actually, you're not. Just excuse yourself as politely as possible, and get out of arms reach." "Kristy looked at me, shaking her head. "Stomp them," she said, under her breath. "Really." The kitchen was bustling, Delia moving from the huge stove to the counter, Monica unwrapping one foil tray after another, revealing the salmon, steaks, whipped potatoes. There was a crackling energy in the air, as if everything was on a higher speed than normal, total opposite of the info desk.**

"It's called being frantic and late," Delia nodded.

"And you can't be any of those things in a library," Bert added smirking.

"How would you know, you've never been in one," Kristy snapped from her hiding place behind Wes.

**If I'd wanted something other than silence, I'd surely found it. In spades. "If there are old people," Kristy said now, glancing at the door, "make sure you go to them, especially if they're sitting down. People notice when Grandma's starving. Watch the room, keep an eye on whose eating and who's not. If you've done a full walk of the room and the goat cheese currant stuffed celery**

"It was one time, you're never going to let me forget it are you," Delia huffed angrily.

"Nope," Everyone said in unison, even Monica.

**Sticks aren't finding any takers, don't keep walking around." "Goat cheese currant?" I said. Kristy nodded gravely. "It was one time, one job!" Delia hissed from behind us. "I wish you would let that go. God!" "If something sucks," Kristy said, "It sucks. When in doubt, grab some meatballs and get back out there. **_**Everyone**_** loves meatballs."**

"I wonder why," Bert mused, he loved them too of course.

"Because they are so delicious, it's almost sinful," Kristy murmured licking her lips.

"**What time is it," Delia asked, as the oven shut with a bang. "Is it seven?" "Six forty-five," Kristy told her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "We need to get out there." I picked up my tray, then stood still while Kristy adjusted one biscuit that was close to falling off the edge. "You ready?" she asked me. I nodded. She pushed the door open with one hand, and some people standing nearby waiting for drinks at the bar turned and looked at us, their eyes moving immediately to the food.**

"Ug, gobblers," Kristy shivered.

"Prepared to spring I'm sure," Wes smirked.

**Invisible, I thought. After all the attention of the last year or so, I was pretty sure I could get use to that. So I lifted my tray up, squared my shoulders, and headed in.**

"Adda, girl," Delia smiled at the book.

**Thirty minutes later, I'd discovered a few things. First, everybody does love meatballs,**

"Told ya," Kristy shrugged smugly.

**Second, most gobblers position themselves right by the door, where they can have first dibs on anything you bring out, and if you try to sidestep them, they quickly move to grabber mode, although I'd yet to have to stomp anyone. And it's true: you are invisible. They'll say anything with you standing there. Anything.**

"Well, it is a wedding," Delia shrugged.

"Oh, wedding gossip," Kristy said lighting up and plopping back in her chair, "I hope she says them in this book. I love hearing the wedding gossip. It's the best."

**I now knew that Molly and Roger, the bride and groom, had lived together for three years, a fact that one gobbler relative was sure contributed to the recent death of the family matriarch.**

"Does that mean they think she killed her," Bert inquired, "or do they think them living un-wed in a house together did her in?"

Wes shrugged. Who knew, they weren't there yet.

**Because of some bachelorette party incident, Molly and her maid of honor weren't currently speaking, and the father of the groom, who was supposed to be on the wagon, was sneaking martinis into the bathroom.**

"I wonder what the maid of honor did," Kristy snickered trying to guess in her mind. She knew it had to be something bad. Maybe she'd tried to hook up with someone the bride knew, or maybe she had tried to hit on the groom in the past and got busted spilling her guts when she was drunk. Classic, Kristy laughed to herself.

**And, oh yeah, the napkins were wrong. All wrong.**

"Oh Jesus," Delia groaned she hated overly stressed brides, they drove her crazy over the smallest things.

"**I'm not sure I understand," I heard Delia saying as I came back into the kitchen for the last round of goat cheese toasts. She was standing by the counter, where she and Monica were getting ready to start preparing the dinner salads, and next to her was the bride, Molly, and her mother. "They're not right!" Molly said, her voice high pitched and watery.**

"Oh Jesus, I can't handle weepy brides," Delia said shaking her head, "they are even worse than bridezillas."

"Yeah, because usually they are crying for no reason, you couldn't help them even if you wanted to," Bert noted.

**She was a pretty girl, plump and blonde, and she had spent the entire party, from what I could tell, standing by the bar with a pinched expression while people took turns squeezing her shoulder and making soothing it's-okay noises.**

"Where was the groom," Kristy muttered.

**The groom was outside smoking cigars, had been all night.**

"Why are they getting married in the first place then?" Bert smirked shaking his head in confusion, "The groom sounds like a jerk."

"Who know," Wes chimed in, "probably for money though."

"That's a terrible reason to get married," Kristy slumped in her seat dejected. She hoped her wedding was nothing like theirs.

**Molly said, "They are supposed to say **_**Molly and Roger**_**, then the date, then underneath that, **_**Forever**_**." Delia glanced around her. "I'm sorry, I don't have one here. . .but don't they say that? I'm almost positive the one I saw did." Molly took a gulp of the mixed drink in her hand,**

"Great, she weepy and intoxicated, perfect combination," Delia muttered sarcastically.

**Shaking her head. Kristy pushed back through the door, dumping a bunch of napkins on her tray, then stopped when she saw the confab by the counter. "What's going on?" she said. Molly's mother was staring at the scars, I noticed. When Kristy glanced over she looked away, though, fast.**

"I'm sure I still noticed, but probably pretended to ignore it," Kristy said in a small voice looking down.

**If Kristy noticed or was bothered, it didn't show. She just put her tray down, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Napkin problems," I told her now. Molly choked a sob, "They don't say **_**Forever**_**. They say **_**Forever**_** . . ." she trailed off, waving her hand. "with a dot-dot-dot thing."**

"Wow," Bert said. That pretty much summed it up for everybody.

"**Dot dot dot?" Delia said, confused. "You know, that thing, the three periods, that you use when you leave something open-ended, unfinished. It's a-" She paused, scrunching up her face. "You know! That thing!" "An Ellipses?" I offered, from across the room.**

"That's what those things are called?" Bert mused, rubbing his bared chin.

Wes nodded, "Leave it to Macy to know that."

**They all looked at me. I felt my face turn red. "Ellipsis?" Delia repeated. "It's three periods," I told her, but she still looked confused, so I added, "You use it to make a transition. Also, it's used to show a thought trailing off. Especially in dialogue."**

"Go Macy," Kristy said waving her hands in the air in a silent cheer.

"Macy's grammar school," Bert smiled in a subdued voice.

"**Wow," Kristy said from beside me. "Go Macy." "Exactly!" Molly said, pointing at me. "It doesn't say **_**Molly and Roger, Forever**_**. It says **_**Molly and Roger, Forever **_**. . . **_**dot dot dot**_**!" she punctuated these with a jab of her finger. "Like maybe its forever, maybe it's not." "Well," Kristy said under her breath to me, "it is a **_**marriage**_**, isn't it?"**

"Not helpful, Kristy," Delia sighed tiredly.

**Molly had pulled out a Kleenex from somewhere and was dabbing her face, taking sobby breaths. "You know," I said to her, trying to help, "I don't think anyone would thing that an ellipse represents doubt or anything. I think it's more, you know, hinting at the future. What lies ahead." Molly blinked at me, her face flushed. Then she burst into tears.**

"Boy she's laying it on thick," Bert groaned.

"She sounds annoying, maybe this is why her new husband is smoking outside," Kristy added.

"Be nice," Delia sighed, though internally she was agreeing.

"**Oh man," Kristy said. "I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I didn't mean-" "It's not about the forever," her mother told me, sliding her arm over her daughter shoulder. "It's all about the forever!" Molly wailed. But then her mother was steering her out of the kitchen, murmuring to her softly. I felt completely and totally responsible.**

"Don't, she would found something else to burst into tears about," Delia rolled her eyes. That lady probably would have cried over the dinner rolls or meatballs next, Macy just got the extreme bad luck that it was her comment.

**Clearly, this had not been the moment to show off my grammar prowess.**

"I enjoyed it," Bert shrugged.

**Delia wiped a hand over her face, shaking her head. "Good Lord," she said, once they were out of earshot. She looked at us. "What should we do?" Nobody said anything for a second. Then Kristy put down her tray. "We should," she announced, definitively, "Make salads."**

"Thanks," Delia said sarcastically, shooting Kristy a look.

"Did you have a better idea, no, so I just stated that we do our job," Kristy sighed.

**She started over to the counter, where she began unstacking plates. Monica pulled a bowl of greens closer, picking up some tongs, and they got to work. I looked back over at the door, feeling terrible. Who knew three dots could make such a difference? Like everything else, a love or a wish or whatever, it was all in the way you read it.**

"That's true," Delia nodded, "but not in this case, so don't worry about it."

"**Macy." I glanced up. Kristy was watching me. She said, "Its okay. It's not your fault." And maybe it wasn't. But that was the problem with having all the answers. It was only after you gave them that you realized they sometimes weren't what people wanted to hear.**

"Unfortunately, that's true too," Delia said looking down.

"**All in all," Delia said three hours later, as we slid the last cart, now loaded down with serving utensils and empty coolers, into the van, "that was not entirely disastrous. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say it was half decent."**

"That's good," Delia smiled.

"You're probably just being optimistic," Wes pointed out.

"**There was that thing with the steaks," Kristy said, referring to a panicked moment right after we distributed the salads, when Delia realized the fillets were still in the van and, therefore, ice cold.**

"See, optimistic," Wes snickered.

"Didn't need you to point that out thank you," Delia murmured.

"**Oh, right. I forgot about that." Delia sighed. "Well, at least it's over. Next time, everything will go smoothly. Like a well-oiled machine."**

Everyone was quiet for a second just looking at each other, then, in unison, they burst out laughing. Bert was rolling on the floor crying with laughter. Delia sighed loudly, "Okay, I get it! Enough!"

They just kept going and she rolled her eyes.

**Even I, as a newbie, knew this was unlikely. All night there'd been one little problem after the another, disasters arising, culminating, and then somehow getting solved, all at whiplash speed. I was so used to controlling the unexpected at all costs that I'd felt my stress level rising and falling, reacting constantly. For everyone else, though, this seemed perfectly normal.**

"You get used to it," Kristy smiled.

"Especially when you're dealing with us," Bert smirked.

**They honestly seemed to believe that things would just work out. And the weirdest thing was, they did. Somehow. Eventually. Although even when I was standing right there I couldn't say how. Now Kristy reached into the back of the van, pulling out a fringed black purse. "Hate to say it," she said, "but I give the marriage a year, tops. There's cold feet, and then there's oh-God-don't-do-it. That girl is **_**freaking**_**."**

"Definitely," Bert agreed.

"I give it less than a month," Wes said shaking his head.

**Monica, sitting on the bumper, offered what I now knew to be one of her three default phrases, "Mmm-hmmm." The other two were "Better quit" and "Don't even," both said with a slow, drawled delivery, the words running together into one: "Bettaquit" and "Donneven."**

"My lovely Monotone," Kristy smiled to her sister.

Monica heaved a sigh and stared off into space.

**I don't know who christened her Monotone, but they were right on the money. "When you get home," Delia said to me, running her hands over her pregnant belly once and then resting her spread fingers there, "soak that in cold water and some Shout. It should come out."**

"The perks to being in catering, I know stains like the back of my hand," Delia smiled proudly, "that and Bert over here."

"Thanks," He beamed over to him. Bert was a wizard with stains.

**I looked down at my shirt and the stain there I'd completely forgotten about. "Oh, right," I said. "I'll do that." About halfway through dinner, some over eager groomsmen, leaping up to make a toast, had spilled a full glass of cabernet on me. I'd learned about gobblers and grabbers: at that moment, I got a full tutorial on gropers.**

"Ew," Bert and Kristy said in unison. Wes could help the scowl that came to his face or that fact that he was annoyed at some drunken guy randomly groping her.

Kristy looked over at him and smirked, this denial wasn't going to last much longer and she knew it.

**He'd pawed me for about five minutes while attempting to dab the stain out, resulting in me getting more action than I ever had from Jason.**

Wes' scowl only got worse when he was mentioned, Macy kind of boyfriend had more than waned on his nerves for the evening.

"I could hold her hand and I would be giving her ten times more action than that idiot," Bert muttered. Wes turned and smiled at him, he was a good little brother, that Bert.

**Jason. As I thought his name, I felt a pull in my gut and realized for the last three hours or so, I'd forgotten all about our break, my new on-hold girlfriend status. But it had happened, was still happening. I'd just been too busy to notice.**

"You don't have to thank us," Kristy smiled liking that they helped her.

**A car turned onto the road, its headlights swinging across us, then approaching slowly, very slowly. As it crept closer, I squinted at it. It wasn't a car but more like some sort of van, painted white with gray splotches here and there.**

"This must be your new ride," Kristy said scrunching her nose at the description.

"Sounds awesome," Bert smiled his nose practically glued to the book.

**Finally it reached us, the driver easing over to the curb carefully before cutting off the engine. A second later, a head popped out of the window. "Ladies," a voice came, deep and formal, "witness the Bertmobile." For a second nobody spoke. The Delia gasped. "Oh, my God," Kristy said. "You've got to be joking."**

Bert slumped back in his seat, why did Kristy always have to rain on his parade.

**The driver's side door swung open with a loud creak, and Bert hopped out. "What?" he said. "I thought you were getting Uncle Henry's car," Delia said, taking a few steps toward him as Wes climbed out of the passenger door. "Wasn't that the plan?" "Changed my mind," Bert said jingling the keys. In a striped shirt with a collar, khaki pants with a leather belt, and loafers,**

"How old are you ninety?" Kristy huffed glaring at him incredulously.

"I'm allowed to dress how I want," Bert smirked at her.

**He looked as if her were dressed up for something. "Why?" Delia asked. She walked up to the Bertmobile, her head cocked to the side. A second later, she took a step back, putting her hands on her hips. "Wait," she said slowly. "Is this an-" "Vehicle that makes a statement?" Bert said. "Yes. Yes it is." "-ambulance?"**

"What!" Delia shouted looking at him.

"Cool," Bert smiled. That would make quite the statement.

"Not going to happen," Wes said shaking his head.

"It's so Bert," Kristy sighed.

"Thanks, plus it my money Wes," Bert huffed annoyed at him.

"I never said it being you was a good thing," Kristy added. Everyone ignored her.

"What about the Cutlass," Delia interjected.

"What about it, it was boring, you can't make a statement in a cutlass," Bert said frowning at the thought.

"But an ambulance," Delia sighed.

"Yes, that will work perfectly," Bert smiled, Wes rolled his eyes, as much as he wanted to he couldn't stop him. It was his money after all.

**She finished, her voice incredulous. "It is isn't it?" "No way," Kristy said laughing. "Bert, only you would think you could get action in a car where people have **_**died**_**."**

"Yay, that so not gonna happen," Kristy rolled her eyes.

"It could," Bert argued.

"That only works for creepers," Kristy pointed out.

"Sorry, I have to agree with Kristy on this," Wes said chuckling.

"**Where did you get this?" Delia said. "Is it even legal to drive?" Wes, now standing by the front bumper, just shook his head in a don't-even-ask kind of way. Now that I looked closer at the Bertmobile, I could in fact make out the faintest trace of and A and part of an M on the front grill. "the guy there got it from a town auction. Isn't that the **_**coolest**_**?"**

Everyone, except Bert, shook their heads, "No."

**Delia looked at Wes. "What happened to Uncle Henry's Cutlass?" "I tried to stop him," Wes told her. "But you know how he is. He insisted. And it **_**is**_** his money." "You can't make a statement in a Cutlass!" Bert said. "Bert," Kristy said, "You can't make a statement period. I mean, what are you **_**wearing?**_** Didn't I tell you not to dress like somebody's dad? God. Is that shirt polyester?"**

"Gah," Kristy fake choked.

"I don't own polyester, for the record," Bert said raising a finger in protest.

**Bert, hardly bothered by this or any of her other remarks, glanced down at his shirt, brushing a hand over the front pocket. "Poly-blend," he said. "Ladies like a well-dressed man." Kristy just rolled her eyes, while Wes ran a hand over his face. Monica, from behind me, said, "Donneven." "It's an ambulance," Delia said flatly, as if saying it aloud might get her use to the idea.**

"I doubt that will happen," Delia muttered.

" **A former ambulance," Bert corrected her. **

"Oh that's so much better," Kristy muttered rolling her eyes.

"**It's got history. It's got personality. It's got-" "Final sale status," Wes said. "He can't take it back. When he drove off the lot, that was it." Delia sighed shaking her head. "It's what I wanted," Bert said. It was quiet for a second: no one, it seemed, had an argument for this. Finally Delia walked over and put her arms around Bert, pulling him close to her. "Well, happy birthday, little man," she said, ruffling his hair. "I can't believe you're already sixteen. It makes me feel old."**

"You're not old," Bert and Wes said in unison rolling their eyes smiling at her. She smiled back tiredly, rubbing her belly gently.

"Yes, I am , but two are sweet," she said.

"**You're not old," He said. "Old enough to remember the day you were born," she said, pulling back from him and brushing his hair out of his face. "Your mom was so happy. She said you were her wish come true." Bert looked down quickly, turning his keys in his fingers. Delia leaned close to him, then whispered something I couldn't hear, and nodded.**

Bert and Delia looked at each other and smiled, he was sure she was probably telling him something about his mom. Delia knew exactly what she was saying and on his birthday she would say the same thing. Tell him how proud his mother would be and what and honorable young man he's grown into. How no one could be more proud of him than her and his mother up in heaven looking down at him.

**When he looked up again, his face was flushed, and for a second, I saw something in his face I recognized, something familiar. But then he his head, and just like that, it was gone. "Did you guys officially meet Macy?" Delia asked,**

"Yes, unfortunately," Delia grimaced, remembering how they met. She turned to glare at the boys who were both looking sheepish.

**Nodding at me. "Macy, these are my nephew's, Bert and Wes." "We met the other night," I still doing that?" Kristy said. "It's so stupid." "I only did it because I'm down," Bert said, shooting me an apologetic look. "By three!"**

"Does Macy's gotcha count on my record," Bert asked with a hopeful expression, "she is one of us now."

"Nope, she wasn't officially a Wish yet at the time," Wes said smirking as if this was an actual game with rules and guidelines.

Bert slumped down annoyed.

"**All I'm saying," Kristy said, pulling a nail file out of her purse, "is that the next person who leaps at me from behind a door is getting punched in the gut. I don't care if you're down or not." "Mmm-hmmm," Monica agreed.**

"Thank you for the support," Kristy nodded in gratitude.

"Mmm-hmmm," Monica repeated.

"**I thought she was Wes," Bert grumbled. "And I wouldn't jump out from behind a door anyway. That's basic. We're way beyond that." "Are you?" Kristy asked, but Bert acted like he didn't hear her. To me she said, "It's this stupid gotcha thing, they've been doing it for a while now. Leaping out at each other and us, scaring the hell out of everyone." "It's a game of wits," Bert said to me.**

"Please," Kristy said rolling her eyes.

"**Half-wits," Kristy added. "There is nothing like a good gotcha." Delia yawned, putting a hand over her mouth, shaking her head. "Well, I hate to break this up, but I'm going home," she announced. "Old pregnant ladies have to be in bed by midnight. It's the rule."**

"What rule?" Bert smirked.

"They rule that I will bonk you on the head if you don't get me, and my pregnant belly in bed," Delia huffed. Everybody chuckled at her.

"**Come one!" Bert said, sweeping his hand across the ambulance's hood. "Night is young! The Bertmobile needs **_**christening**_**!" "We're going to ride around in an ambulance?" Kristy said. "It's got all the amenities!" Bert told her. "It's just like a car. It's better than a car!"**

"I severely doubt that," Kristy muttered. Wes chuckled at her comment, there's no way that ambulance will be cool, this was going to be a nightmare.

"**Does it have a CD player?" she asked him. "Actually-" "No," Wes told her. "But it does have a broken intercom system."**

"Oh joy," Wes groaned, "this just keeps getting better and better."

"Hey!" Bert shouted, "it sounds fine."

"**Oh, well, then," she said, waving her hand. "I'm sold." Bert shot her a look, annoyed, but she smiled at him, squeezing his arm as she started over to the Bertmobile. Monica stood up and followed her, and they went around to the back, pulling open the rear doors.**

"Happy?" Kristy smiled relenting.

"Thank you," Bert nodded. Wes on the other side of him mouthed her a thank you. He knew he would have to hear him complain if she hadn't.

"**Have a fun night," Delia called after them. "Don't drive too fast, Bert, you hear?"**

"There's no risk in that," Kristy rolled her eyes.

**This was greeted with uproarious laughter from everyone but Wes-who looked like he would have laughed but was trying not to- and Bert, who just ignored it as he walked over to the driver's side door.**

Bert shot Wes a glare and Wes just shrugged, "You know I still love you bro."

"Whatever," Bert grumbled.

"**Wes," Delia called out, "can you come here for a sec?" Wes started over toward her, but I was in the way, and we did that weird thing where both of us went to one side, then the other, in tandem. **

"Aww," Kristy cooed, "It's like a romance novel."

"It seems really sweet Wes," Bert snickered at him. Wes hit them both with pillows and rolled his eyes.

"There's nothing going on with Macy and me yet," Wes huffed laughing.

"Aw, you said yet!" Kristy got him and he knew it, he said nothing and pretended to ignore her and ignore his slip.

**During this awkward dance I noticed he was even better looking up close than from a distance-with those dark eyes, long lashes, hair curling just over his collar, his jeans low on his hips- and he had a tattoo on his arm, something celtic looking that poked out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt.**

"Close, but my mom made it," Wes smiled quietly. No one said a word, they just left him with his thoughts.

**Finally I stopped moving, and he was able to get past me. "Sorry about that," he said, smiling, and I felt myself flush for some reason as I watched him disappear around the side of the van. "Where are we supposed to sit?" I could hear Kristy asking from the back of the Bertmobile. "Oh, Jesus, is that a gurney?"**

"I absolutely will not, ride around, in a ambulance, with a gurney, that's been used by dead people!" Kristy shouted looking terrified.

"I would take it out," Bert huffed as if that was the obvious conclusion, "It's probably a futon or something."

"I don't know if that's so safe Bert," Delia worried.

"I'll help him fix it so it's safe, put in some seats and seatbelts," Wes sighed, he knew Bert had his heart set on this, so he had to help him. Bert looked over at Wes and smiled, he knew he had gotten lucky when it came to brothers. No doubt about it.

"**No," Bert said, "it's where the gurney used to be. That's just a cot I put in until I find something more comfortable." "A cot?" Kristy said. "Bert, you're entirely too confident about this car's potential. Really."**

"It's called optimism, try it," Bert snickered at her.

"If that's where it leads, I'll pass," Kristy said laughing.

"**Just get in, will you?" Bert snapped. "My birthday is ticking away. Ticking!" Wes was walking back to the Bertmobile as I dug out my keys and started toward my car, passing the van on the way.**

"She could come too," Bert shrugged, the more the merrier in his mind.

"We'll just have to convince her.

"**Have a good night," he said to me, and I nodded, my tongue fumbling for a response, but once I realized saying the same thing back would have been fine- God, what is wrong with me?- it was too late, and he was already getting into the Bertmobile.**

"Wes just has that effect on women," Bert chuckled at the glare Wes shot him. Wes was a little smug about the effect he had on her, not that it mattered. She didn't know him, all this was purely physical, he liked her for her mind, he would have to see what happened when they finally get to talk. Like really talk, not just pass by talking about the weather or something.

**As I passed the van, Delia was in the driver's seat fastening her seatbelt. "You did great, Macy," she said. "Just great." "Thanks." She grabbed a pen off the dashboard, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin. "Here," she said, writing something on it, "this is my number. Give me a call on Monday and I'll let you know when I can use you next. Okay?" "Okay," I said, taking the napkin and folding it. "Thanks again. I had a really good time."**

"Wow, not many people say that after a night with us," Bert chuckled.

"Speak for yourself," Kristy said sweeping her hair behind her ears.

"**Yeah?" she smiled at me, surprised. "I'm glad. Drive safe, you hear?" I nodded, and she cranked the engine, then pulled away from the curb, beeping the horn as she turned the corner. I'd just unlocked my door when the Bertmobile pulled up beside me. Kristy was leaning forward from the backseat, hand on the radio: I could hear the dial moving across stations, from static pop songs to some thumping techno bass beat. She looked across Wes, who was digging in the glove compartment, right at me. "Hey," she said, "you want to come out with us?"**

"Oh, please say yes," Kristy pleaded with her hands together.

"I don't think that going to happen, she may be working with us now, but partying doesn't seemed like her thing" Wes laughed.

"**Oh, no," I said. "I really have to go-" Kristy twisted the dial again, and the beginning of a pop song blasted out, someone shrieking "Baaaaby!" at full melodic throttle. Bert and Wes both winced.**

Bert and Wes both frowned at that, "Maybe will also have to install a CD player as well."

Bert and Kristy both nodded in agreement.

"**-home," I finished. Kristy turned down the volume, but not much. "Are you sure?" she said. "I mean, do you really want to pass this up? How often do you get to ride in an ambulance?" One too many, I thought.**

Everyone frowned, Kristy sighed she hadn't known about her dad at the time, she wouldn't have said that if she had known.

"**It's a refurbished ambulance," Bert grumbled. "Whatever," Kristy said. To me she added, "Come on, live a little." "No, I'd better go," I said. "But thanks." Kristy shrugged. "Okay," she told me. "Next time, though, okay?" "Right," I said. "Sure."**

"Again, I don't think that's going to happen," Wes could tell by her blow off answer. He laughed.

"This time I won't take no for an answer, she needs to hang around real people for a while," Kristy said seriously.

**I stood there and watched them, noting how carefully Bert turned around in the opposite driveway, the way Wes lifted one hand to wave as they pulled away.**

Kristy turned wiped a small tear, smiling at Wes, "You two are adorable, checking each other out."

Wes didn't respond, he just kept looking at the book. He was probably just being polite by waving, he didn't know her yet in the book so he hasn't had a chance to like her then. But the him in the room, that was a whole different story.

**Maybe in another life, I might have a been able to take a chance, to jump into the back of an ambulance and not remember the time I'd done it before. But risk hadn't been working out for me lately; I need only to go home and see my computer screen to know that.**

"He's not worth wasting your risks on," Kristy huffed.

**So I did what I'd always did these days, the right thing. But before I did, I glanced in my side mirror, catching one last look at the Bertmobile as it turned a far corner. Then, once they were gone, I started my engine and headed home.**

"I'm sure I will be able to win her over," Kristy said confidently, "eventually."

"I hope so, she needs real people in her life poor thing," Delia worried, rubbing her belly again.

"That's the end of the chapter," Bert sighed, he had liked reading, "Who's next?"

Everyone looked at Monica for a split second. Then Kristy reached out her hand.

"I will," She sighed leaning back into her seat and pulling the book closer to her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I do **Not** own _The Truth about Forever_ or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.

**Chapter 6**

"**Chapter Five"** Kristy read.

_**Dear Jason,**_

Everyone groaned the last thing they wanted to start hearing about this jerk again.

_**I received your email, and I have to say I was surprised to learn that you felt I'd been**_

"Maybe she feels she needs to, I don't know, say something, anything so he won't think he won," Wes reasons.

_**Dear Jason, I received your email, and I can't help but feel that maybe you should have let me know if you felt our relationship was**_

"I like the way she's going with that one," Bert smirked.

"This must be hard for her not to mention, embarrassing," Delia sighed.

_**Dear Jason, I received your email, and I can't believe you'd do this to me when all I did was say I love you, which is something most people who've been together can**_

"Now, I like where that email is going," Kristy smiled.

"Yeah," Bert chuckled, "I don't think she going to send that one though."

"Humph," Kristy said slouched into the couch.

**No, no, I thought, and definitely, no. It was Monday morning, and even with two full days to craft a response to Jason's email, I had nothing.**

"Don't give him the satisfaction of a response, sometimes distance and silence are what helps us grow a little," Delia smiled sadly over at everyone. No one said anything, they just smiled back at him.

**The main problem was that what he'd written to me was so cold, so lacking in emotion, that each time I started to reply, I tried to use the same tone. But I couldn't. No matter how carefully I worked at it, by the time I finished all I could see was the raw sadness in the lines as I scanned them, all my failings cropped up in the spaces between the words.**

"Maybe, maybe, Jason is just as damaged as Macy," Delia wondered, "when you think about how cold an stand-offish he is. Just like Macy was. Maybe something was up in his life too and he just didn't have anyone to wake him back up."

"Well, unfortunately we can't help everyone," Bert smiled at the care-taking Delia is.

"Yes, but maybe we can help her understand why he hurt her this way," Delia replied.

**So finally , I decided that the best response-the safest-was none at all. Since I hadn't heard from him, I assumed he'd accepted my silence as agreement. **

"Knowing him, he probably did," Bert smirked, "looks like she taking your advice Delia."

"That's because it was good advice," Delia smiled smugly.

**It was probably just what he wanted anyway. As I drove to the library to begin another week at the info desk, I got stuck behind an ambulance at a stoplight, which made me think, as I had pretty frequently since Friday, about Wish Catering.**

"Yeah, we have that effect on people," Kristy said.

"No," Wes smirked, "we have that effect on people clothes, when we spill drinks and food on them."

"Don't remind me," Delia groaned reliving all the accidents at Macy's mom's party.

**I'd already had to confess about my new job to my mother, after she found my wine-stained shirt in the laundry room soaking in shout.**

"She took my advice," Delia beamed.

"Technically," Bert said holding up his hand, "you got the advice from me, the stain wizard."

"Yes, thank you almighty stain wizard," Kristy said mocking him.

**That's what I get for following instructions. "But honey," she said her voice more questioning than disapproving, but it was early yet, "you already have a job."**

"I thought that would be her reaction," Bert frowned.

"Would you expect anything else, her mother is more damaged than she is," Kristy sighed.

"**I know," I said, as she took another doubtful look at the shirt, eyeing the stain, "but I bumped into Delia on Friday at the supermarket, and she was all frazzled and short-handed, so I offered to help her out. It just kind of happened." This last part, at least, was true.**

"It is actually a ,somewhat, believable story," Bert chuckled.

"Especially with our luck," Kristy nodded.

**She shut the washer , then turned and looked at me, crossing her arms over her chest. "I just think," she said, "that you might get overwhelmed. Your library job is a lot of responsibility. Jason is trusting you to really give it your full attention."**

"You can blame those awful girls for that," Kristy muttered.

"Yeah her other job sucks," Bert grumbled.

**This would have been, in any other world, the perfect time to tell my mother about Jason's decision and our break. But I didn't. **

"They really need to work on their relationship," Delia sighed, "she shouldn't be afraid to talk to her own mother."

**I knew my mother thought of me as the door daughter, the one she could depend on to be as driven and focused as she was.**

"That won't change if she talks to her," Bert shrugged.

"But apparently she thinks it will," Delia seemed really worried about her.

**For some reason, I was sure that Jason's breaking up with me would make me less than that in her eyes. It was bad enough that I assumed I wasn't up to Jason's standards. Even worse would be for her to think so too.**

"No, she would take your side, you're her daughter," Delia argued.

"**Catering is just a once in a while thing," I said now. "It's not a distraction. I might not even do it again. It was just . . . for fun." "Fun?" she said. Her voice was so surprised, as if I'd told her that driving nails into my arms was, also, just as enjoyable.**

"She just probably not used to you talking like that," Wes muttered thinking about how cold their family is.

"**I would think it would be horrible, having to be on your feet all the time and waiting on people . . . plus, well, that woman just seemed so disorganized. I'd go crazy."**

Delia sighed, "We really need to work on that."

"We know," Bert groaned, he wasn't looking forward to it.

"**Oh," I said, "that was just when they were here. On Friday night, they were totally different." "They were?" I nodded. Another lie. But my mother would never have understood why, in some small way, the mayhem of Delia's business would appeal to me.**

"It just has a way of sneaking up on you," Wes and Kristy smiled.

**I wasn't even sure I could explain it myself. All I knew was that the rest of the weekend had been a stark contrast to those few hours on Friday night. During the days, I'd done all the things I was supposed to: I went to yoga class, did laundry, cleaned my bathroom, and tried to compose an email to Jason.**

"We need her around the house," Wes smirked at Bert, "you never clean the bathroom, or do the laundry."

"I do," Bert smiled innocently, "when I'm desperate for money from you, or clothes."

**I ate lunch and dinner at the same time both days, using the same plate, bowl, and glass, washing them after each meal and stack them neatly in the dish rack, and went to bed by eleven, even though I rarely fell asleep , if at all, by two.**

"How old is she, sixty," Kristy sighed, she had to do something about this girl, and fast.

**For eighty-hours, I spoke to no one but a couple of telemarketers. It was so quiet that I kept finding myself sitting at the kitchen table listening to my own breathing, as if in all this order and cleanliness I needed to prove I was alive.**

"Who wouldn't," Bert muttered.

"I'm really starting to worry about her, she need to open herself up more and not be so afraid," Delia sighed.

"Maybe, I can convince her to come out with us?" Kristy shrugged, Macy was stubborn but maybe she would just have to throw her into the van and drive off. Give her a little push.

"**Well, we'll just see how it goes, okay?" my mother had said as I reached over and turned on the washer. The washer started gurgling, tackling the white stain. "The library job is still your first priority. Right?" "Right," I agreed, and that was that.**

"I don't think that going to stay like that for long," Bert snickered.

"Neither do I," Wes laughed.

**Now, however, as I walked in to begin my second week of work-even though our shifts began at nine, and it was only eight-fifty, Bethany and Amanda were, naturally, already there and in place in their chairs-**

"Of course they are," Kristy groaned, "I can't wait to meet them and give them a piece of my mind."

"I feel sorry for them," Bert muttered, Kristy turned her glare from the book to Bert.

**I felt a sense of inescapable dread. Maybe it was the silence. Or the stillness. Or the way Amanda raised her head and looked at me as I approached her brow furrowing. "Oh, Macy," she said, with the same slightly surprise tone she'd used every day I'd showed up, "I wondered if you would make it in today . . . considering."**

"I don't think he should have told them that," Delia frowned, "that was kind of rude, I thought he would be more of a gentleman than that."

"I didn't," Kristy said sternly.

**I knew what she meant, of course. Jason wasn't one to spill secrets, but there were a couple of other people from our high school at Brain Camp, one of whom, a guy named Rob who squinted all the time, was good friends with both Amanda and Jason.**

"That makes more sense," Delia nodded.

**Whatever way it had gone, clearly this break wasn't just my secret anymore. Now, it was information, and as they were with everything else, Bethany and Amanda were suddenly experts. "Considering," Amanda said, repeating the word slowly as if, by not raising to the bait, I must not have heard her, "What happened with you and Jason."**

"That's none of her hoity- toity business," Kristy growled.

"That was rude," Wes grumbled in agreement, so far he hasn't seen one good thing about Macy's life. Why did she put up with it?

**I turned so I was facing her. "It's just a break. And it has nothing to do with my job." "Maybe so," she said, as Bethany put a pen to her lips. "We were just concerned it might, you know, affect your performance."**

"What performance?" Kristy yelled, "They don't let her do anything."

"**No," I said. "It won't." And then I turned back to my computer screen. I could see their faces reflected there, the way Amanda shook her head in a she's-so-pathetic way,**

"She shouldn't be calling anyone pathetic," Kristy huffed.

**How Bethany pursed her lips, silently agreeing, before slowly swiveling back to face forward. And so began the longest day yet. I didn't do much of anything, other than an all-time high of two questions (one from a man who stumbled in, unshaven and stinking of liquor, to ask about a job opening,**

"I don't see that one happening," Bert said shaking his head.

**And another from a six-year-old concerning how to find Mickey Mouse's address, **

"That's cute," Delia smiled rubbing her belly.

"Kids are adorable," Bert laughed.

"Yeah they sure are," Kristy smiled patting him on the head condescendingly; he turned and glared at her.

**Both of which were, at least in Bethany and Amanda's opinion, not worth their time, but fully suited to mine). All this made it more than clear that last week; I'd been an annoyance to be tolerated. Now I was one easily, and rightfully ignored. **

"I would like to hit them so bad," Kristy moaned in defeat.

"I hope she come to use soon," Bert agreed, he had had enough of all this wallowing and mean girls.

**It was just after dinner and I was following routine, Wiping down the kitchen countertops, when the phone rang.**

**I didn't even reach for it, assuming it was a client calling for my mother. But then I heard her office door open. "Macy? It's for you." **

"Finally," Everyone sighed in unison.

**The first thing I heard when I picked up the kitchen phone was someone sobbing, in that blubbering, gaspy kind of way. **

"Of course, Lucy hates when I get on the phone," Delia sighed.

"**Oh, Lucy, honey please," I heard a voice saying over it. "You only do this when I'm on the phone, why is that? Hmmm? Why-"**

"**Hello?" I said.**

"**Macy, hi, it's Delia." The crying started up again fresh, climbing to a full-out wail. "Oh, Lucy, sweetie, please God I'm begging you, just let Mommy talk for five seconds . . . .Look, here's your bunny, see?"**

Everyone was laughing as Delia moaned rubbing her belly.

"Poor Macy, she going to think we are all crazy," Delia huffed.

"Well, we are," Bert chuckled, "but I think she will be okay with it." 

**I just sat there holding the phone, as the crying subsided to sniffling, then to hiccupping, then stopped altogether. **

"**Macy," She said, "I am so sorry. Are you still there?"**

"**Yes," I told her.**

**She sighed, that world-weary exhale I already associated with her, even though we hardly knew each other. "The reason I'm calling," she began, "is that I'm kind of in a bind and could use an extra pair of hands. I've got this big luncheon thing tomorrow, and currently I'm about two hundred finger sandwiches behind. Can you help me out?"**

"Two Hundred," Bert and Kristy frowned.  
>"That sucks," Wes muttered, that going to take a few hours, hours he wouldn't feel like spending.<p>

"**Tonight?" I said, glancing at the clock on the stove. It was 7:50, the time when I usually went upstairs to check my email, then brushed and flossed my teeth before reviewing a few pages of my SAT word book so that I wouldn't feel too guilty about camping out in front of the TV until I was tired enough to try sleep. **

"She too responsible for her own good, she needs to get out and have some fun," Kristy smiled.

"Well, focusing on school isn't so bad," Delia argued. "She just needs a little time to herself as well."

"**I know it's short notice, but everyone else already had plans," Delia said now, and I heard running water. **

"Most of which you probably faked," Delia huffed.

"At least you got Macy," Kristy smiled.

"**So don't feel bad about saying no . . . It was just a shot in the dark, you know. I dug out your mom's business card and thought I'd at least try to woo you over here."**

"**Well," I said, and the no, I can't, I'm sorry, was perched right there on my tongue, so close to my saying it that I could feel my lips forming the words. But then I looked around our silent, perfectly clean Kitchen.**

"the completely opposite of our kitchen," Wes chuckled looking pointedly at Bert.

"What?" Bert replied.

"Nothing, nothing at all," Wes said continuing laughing.

**It was summer, early evening. Once this had been my favorite time of year, my favorite time of night. When the fireflies came out, and the heat cooled. How had I forgotten that?**

"**. . . Don't know why you'd want to spend a few hours up to your elbows in watercress and cream cheese," Delia was saying in my ear as I snapped to, back to reality. "Unless you just had nothing else to do."**

"**I don't," I said suddenly, surprising myself. "I mean, nothing that can't wait.'**

"**Really?" she said. "Wonderful. Oh, God. You're saving my life! Here, let me give you directions. Now, it's kind of a ways out, but I'll pay you from right now, so your driving time will be on the clock."**

"I wish you paid us for that," Bert huffed.

"I can't," Delia rolled her eyes, "You live with me."

"Oh, right," Bert said hitting himself on the head. Kristy and Wes just shook their heads, Bert was always being so silly.

**As I picked a pen out of the jar by the phone, pulling a notepad closer to me, I had a sudden pang of worry thinking about this deviation from my routine. But this was just one night, one chance to vary and see where it took me. The fireflies were probably already out: maybe it wasn't just a season or a time but a whole world I'd forgotten.**

**I'd never know until I stepped out into it. So I did.**

"Good," Delia nodded, the more she came out of her shell the more she could deal and wouldn't keep torturing herself with her father's death.

**Delia's directions were like Delia: clear in places, completely frazzled in others.**

Everyone laughed at that as Delia crossed her arms, "I'm not that bad."

They all just started laughing harder.

**The first part was easy. I'd taken the main road through town then past the city limits, where the scenery turned from new subdivisions and office buildings to smaller farmhouses to big stretches of pasture and dairy lands, plus cows. **

**It was the turn off that road, however-which led to Delia's street-that where I got stuck. Or lost. Or both.**

**It just wasn't **_**there**_**, period, no matter how many times I drove up and down looking for it.**

"I hope those idiots didn't steal the sign again," Wes said his eyes narrowing at the book. If he ever caught those idiots he'd know them over the head with a bat.

**Which became sort of embarrassing, as there was a produce stand I kept driving by-it's sign, painted in bright red, said, **TOMATOES FRESH FLOWERS PIES**- where an older woman was sitting in a lawn chair, a large flashlight in her lap, reading a paperback book.**

**The third time I passed her, she put the book down and watched me. The fourth, she got involved. **

"**You lost, sugar?" she called out as I crept passed, scanning the scenery for the turnoff- **

"Oh, she is so sweet," Delia smiled, that was an old friend of hers.

"**It's narrow dirt road, blink and you'll miss it," Delia had said- **

**Wondering if this was some sort of induction process for new employees or something, like hazing or catering boot camp.**

"No, that would be their stupid gotcha game," Kristy snickered.

"It's not stupid its . . . educational," Bert said putting his nose in the air.

"Please, it's completely ridiculous."

**I stopped my car, then backed up slowly. By the time I reached the stand, the woman had gotten out of her chair and was coming to bend down into my passenger window. She looked to be in her early fifties, maybe, with graying hair pulled back at her neck, and was wearing jeans and a white tank top, with a shirt tied at her ample waist. **

"That's grams," Kristy smiled

**She still had the paperback in her hand, and I glanced at the title: **_**The Choice**_**, by Barbara Starr. **

**There was a shirtless man on the cover, a women in a tight dress pressed against him. Her place was held with a nail file. **

"Oh wow, I think I'll have nightmares tonight," Bert said horrified at the mental picture.

"Yeah, I did not need to know that," Kristy said her face scrunched up.

"Oh hush," Delia shook her head, "Your grandma has a right to read what she wants."

"**I'm looking for Sweetbud Drive," I said. "It's supposed to be off this road, but I can't-"**

"**Right there," she said, turning and pointing to a gravel strip to the right of the produce stand, so narrow it looked more like a driveway than a real street.**

"**Not your fault you missed it, the sign got stolen again last night. Bunch of damn potheads, I swear." She indicated a spot on the other side of the drive where, in fact, there was a pole, no sign attached.**

"They should do something about that, put up cameras or something," Bert reasoned.

"It would probably be too many tax dollars, especially for a small back road with only two houses on it," Wes mused.

"And replacing the sign all the time is cheaper?" Bert countered.

Bert had Wes on that, he was right, it was a waste of money.

"**And that's the fourth time this year. Now nobody can find my house until the DOT get someone out here to replace it." **

"**Oh," I said. "That's terrible."**

"**Well," she replied, switching her paperback to the other hand, "maybe not terrible. But it sure is inconvenient. Like life isn't complicated enough. You should at least be able to follow the **_**signs**_**."**

Delia nodded her head in agreement, "She's right, we should at least have that; if nothing else, to count on."

**She stood up, stretching. "Oh, and on your way, watch out for the big hole. It's right past the sculpture, and it's a doozy. Stick to the left." Then she patted my hood, smiled at me, and walked back to her lawn chair.**

"She is so going to get stuck," Bert chuckled.

"I know," Delia sighed.

"**Thank you," I called out after her, and she waved at me over her shoulder. I turned around in the road and started down Sweetbud drive, mindful that somewhere up ahead there was both a sculpture and a big hole. I saw the sculpture first. **

**It was on the side of the narrow drive, in a clearing between two trees. Made of rusted metal, it was huge-at least six feet across-shaped like an open hand. It was encircle by a piece if rebar with a bicycle chain woven around its edges, like some sort of garland. **

"It's quite the sight, huh Wes?" Kristy smirked.

Wes flushed a little and looked away, "it's nothing too special."

Everyone but him rolled their eyes, the sculpture is amazing, thought he would never admit it.

**In the palm of the hand, a heart shape had been cut out, and a smaller heart, painted bright red, hung within it, spinning slightly in the breeze that was blowing. I just sat there, my car barely crunching over the gravel, and stared at it.**

**I couldn't help but think I had seen that design somewhere before.**

**And then I hit the hole.**

Everyone burst out laughing.

"At least she liked it, I think," Delia shrugged.

_**Clunk!**_** Went my front left wheel, disappeared into it entirely. O-Kay, I thought, I thought, as my entire car tilted to one side, **_**this**_** must be why she called it a doozy.**

**I was sitting there, trying to think of a way I could get myself out somehow and saved the embarrassment of having to make such an entrance, when I looked up ahead and saw someone walking toward me from a house at the end of the road.**

**It was just getting dark, so at first it was hard to make them out. Only when he was right in front of my widely slanting front bumper did I realize it was Wes.**

"Aw, our resident white knight," Kristy smiled.

Wes rolled his eyes, he was probably just outside and noticed her go in. Nothing special about it.

"**Whatever you do," he called out, "don't try and reverse out of it. That only makes it worse." Then, as he got closer, he looked at me and started slightly. I wasn't sure who he'd been expecting, but obviously it was a surprise seeing me. "Hey,' he said.**

"**Hi." I swallowed. "I'm, um-"**

"**Stuck," he finished. He disappeared for a second, ducking down to examine the hole and my tire within it. Leaning out my window, at the odd angle I was, I found myself almost level with the top of his head. A second later, when he looked up at me, we were face to face, and again, even under these circumstances, I was struck by how good looking he was,**

Despite himself Wes smiled at that, Kristy caught him of course, and he looked away. Not that it matter or anything, looks meant next to nothing, but it was a bit flattering.

**In that accidental, doesn't-even-know-it kind of way. Which only made it worse. Or better.**

**Or whatever. **

"Definitely better," Kristy winked at him, "you have so got her."

"Doubtful," Wes shook his head.

"**Yup," he said, as if there'd been any doubt, "you're in there, all right."**

"**I was warned, too," I told him, as he stood up. "I just saw that sculpture, and I got distraction."**

"**The sculpture?" he looked at it, then at me. "Oh, right. Because you know it."**

"**What?" I said.**

**He blinked, seeming confused, then shook his head. "Nothing. I just thought maybe, um, you'd seen it before, or something. There are a few around town."**

"I wonder what that's about," Wes said, something was nagging at his head about that. He would never just assume someone had seen his stuff, he must have had a reason for thinking that she had. He shook his head, maybe they would say it in the book eventually.

"**No, I haven't," I said. The breeze had stopped blowing now, and in the stillness the heart was just there in the center of the hand, suspended. "It's amazing, though."**

**I heard a door slam off to my right and glanced over to see Delia standing on the front porch of a white house, her arms crossed over her chest. "Macy?" she called out. "Is that you? Oh, God, I forgot to tell you about the hole. Hold on, we'll get you out. I'm such an idiot. Just let me call Wes."**

"**I'm on it," Wes yelled back, and she put her hand on her chest, relieved, then sat down on the steps. Then, to me, he added, "Hold tight. I'll be back in a second."**

"I can be your Hero baby," Bert sang throwing his hand in the air.

"Shut up," Wes blushed throwing a pillow at Bert.

**I sat there, watching as he jogged back down the street, disappearing into the yard of the house at the very end. A minute later an engine started up, a ford pickup truck pulled out to face me, then drove down the side of the road, bumping over the occasional tree root.**

**Wes drove past me, then backed up until his back bumper was about a foot from mine. I heard a few clanks and clunked as he attached something to my car. Then I watched my side mirror as he walked back up to me, his white T-shirt bright in the bark.**

"**The trick," he said, leaning into my window, "is to get the angle just right." He reached over, putting his hands on my steering wheel, and twisted it slightly. "Like that," he said. "Okay?"**

"**Okay," I said, putting my hands where his had been.**

"You just wanted to reach into the car, didn't you?" Kristy smirked.

She got the pillow to the head this time.

"**Have you out in a sec," he said. He walked back to the truck, got in, and put it in gear. I sat there, hands locked on the where he'd said to keep them, and waited.**

**The truck revved, then move forward, and for a second, nothing happened. But then, suddenly, was moving. Rising. Up and out, bit by bit, until, in my headlights, I could see the hole emerging in front of me, now completely empty.**

**And it was huge. More like a crater, like something you'd see on the moon. A doozy, indeed.**

"Yep," Wes nodded, "and we'll never get rid of it."

"Oh, let it go," Delia sighed, she had her reasons for keeping it and that was all.

**Once I was back on level ground, Wes hopped out of the truck, undoing the tow rope. **

"**You're fine now," he called from somewhere near my bumper. "Just keep left. **_**Way**_** left."**

**I stuck my head out of the window. "Thank you," I said. "Really."**

**He shrugged. "No problem. I do it all the time. Just pulled out the FedEx guy yesterday." He tossed the rope into the trunk bed, where it landed with a thunk. "He was not happy."**

"It blew out his tire," Kristy laughed, 'Of course he wasn't happy."

"**It's a big hole," I said, taking another look at it.**

"**It's a monster." He ran a hand through his hair, and I saw the tattoo on his arm again, but he was too far away for me to make it out. "We need to fill it, but we never will."**

"**Why not?"**

**He glanced over at Delia's house. I could now see her coming down the walk. She had on a long skirt and a red T-shirt, her feet bare. **

"**It's a family thing," he said. "Some people believe everything happens for a reason. Even massive holes."**

"It's not exactly that," Delia muttered, but she didn't say more, it will probably explain it in the book soon.

"**But you don't," I said.**

"**Nope," he said. He looked over my car at the hole, studying it for a second. I was watching him, not even aware of it until he glanced at me.**

"You need to have more faith," Delia smiled.

"Maybe," Wes conceded.

"**Anyway," he said as I focused back on my steering wheel, "I'll see you around."**

"**Thanks again," I said shifting into first.**

"**No problem. Just remember: left."**

"**Way left," I told him, and he nodded, then knocked the side of my bumper, **_**rap-rap**_**, and started back to the truck. **

Wes smiled, he liked that she had repeated what he said. It was at that moment that Wes realized they were less than half way through this book and he was already falling for her. Not for her look, but for her mind. That scared him a little, he had no clue what he would do after they were done reading.

**As he climbed in I turned my steering wheel and eased around the hole, then drove the fifty feet or so to Delia's driveway, where she was waiting for me. Right as I reached to open my door, Wes's truck blurred past in my rearview mirror: I could see him in silhouette, his face illuminated by the dashboard lights.**

**Then he disappeared behind a row of trees, gravel crunching, and was gone.**

"**The thing about Wes," Delia said to me, unwrapping another package of Turkey, "is that he thinks he can fix anything. And if he can't fix it, he can at least do something with the pieces of what's broken."**

"No," Wes disagreed, "I just like to help and feel useful."

"You are useful," Delia smiled warmly at him. "Always have been, always will be."

"Thanks," He blushed and looked away.

"**That's bad?" I asked, dipping my spreader back into the huge, industrial sized jar of mayonnaise on the table in front of me. **

"**Not bad," she said. "Just different."**

**We were in Delia's garage, which served as Wish Catering central. It was outfitted with two industrial-sized ovens, a large fridge, and several stainless-steel tables, all of which were piled with cutting boards and various utensils. **

**We were sitting on opposite sides of one of the tables, assembling sandwiches. The garage door was open, and outside I could hear crickets chirping.**

"I like crickets," Delia sighed, "they are good luck."

"And Lord knows we need some," Kristy chuckled.

"**The way I see it," she continued, "is that some things are just meant to be the way they are."**

"**Like the hole," I said, remembering how he'd glanced at her saying this. She put down the turkey she was holding and looked at me.**

"**I know what he told you," she said. "He said that I was the reason the hole was still there, and that if I'd just let him fill it was wouldn't have the postman pissed off to the point of sabotaging out mail, and I wouldn't be faced with yet another bill from Lakeview Tire for some poor client who busted their Goodyear out there."  
><strong>"Give me a little credit, you know I wouldn't say that," Wes said shooting Delia a look.

"I know, I was probably just being defensive," Delia agreed.

"**No," I said slowly, spreading the mayonnaise in a thin layer on the bread in front of me, "he said that some people believe everything happens for a reason. And some people, well, don't."**

**She thought for a second. "It's not that I believe that some people believe everything happens for a reason," she said. "It's just that . . . I just think that some things are meant to be broken. Imperfect. Chaotic. It's the universes way of providing contrast, you know? There have to be a few holes in the road. It's how life **_**is**_**."**

**We were quiet for a second. Outside, the very last of the sunset, fading pink, was disappearing behind the trees.**

"**Still," I said, putting another slice of bread on the one in front of me, "it **_**is**_** a big hole."**

"More like monstrous," Kristy laughed and everyone joined in after a second.

"**It's a huge hole," she conceded, reaching for the mayonnaise. "But that's kind of the point. I mean, I don't want to fix it because to me, it's not broken. It's just here, and I work around it. It's the same reason I refuse to trade in my car, even though, for some reason, the A/C won't work when I have the radio on. I choose: music, or cold air. It's not that big of a deal."**

"**The A/C won't work when the radio's on?" I asked. "That's so weird."**

"I know, I can't figure out why it does that," Delia mused thinking about it.

"Have you seen a mechanic about it lately?" Bert asked.

"Yeah, they don't really know either," Delia sighed.

"**I know." She pulled out three more slices of bread, putting mayonnaise, then lettuce, on them assembly-line style. "On a bigger scale, it's the reason that I won't hire a partner to help me with the catering, even though it's been chaos on the wheels with Wish gone. Yes, things are sort of unorganized. And sure, it would be nice not to feel like we were close to disaster every second."**

**I started another sandwich listening.**

"**But if everything was always smooth and perfect," she continued, "you'd get too used to that, you know? You have to have a little bit of disorganization now and then. Otherwise, you'll never really enjoy it when things do go right. I know you think I'm a flake. Everyone does."**

"No we don't," they all said in unison.

"You all are just being nice," Delia chuckled, "and completely full of it."

"Maybe a little," Bert laughed. Kristy hit him on the shoulder and then smiled up at Delia.

"No," Kristy shook head.

"**I don't," I assured her, but she shook her head, not believing me.**

"**It's okay. I mean, I can't tell you how many times I've caught Wes out there with someone from the gravel place, secretly trying to fill that hole." **

**She put another row of bread down. "And Pete, my husband, he's tried twice to lure me to the car dealership to trade in me old thing for a new car. And as far as the business goes . . . I don't know. They leave me alone on that. Because of Wish. Which is so funny, because if she was here, and saw how things are . . . she's flip out. She was the mort organized person in the **_**world**_**."**

"**Wish," I said, reaching for the mayonnaise. "That's such a cool name."**

Everyone smiled at that.

"It was," Wes said sadly.

**She looked up at me, smiling. "It is, isn't it? Her real name was Melissa. But when I was little, I mispronounced it all the time, you know, Ma-Wish-a. Eventually, it just got shortened to Wish, and everyone started calling her that.**

**She never minded. I mean, it fit her." She picked up the knife at her elbow, then carefully sliced the sandwiches into halves, then fourths, before stacking them onto the tray beside us.**

"**This was her baby, this business. After she and the boys' dad divorced, and he moved up North, it was like her new start, and she ran it like a well-oiled machine. But then she got sick . . . breast cancer. She was only thirty-nine when she died."**

**It felt so weird, to be on the other side, where you were the one expected to offer condolences, not receive them. I wanted my "sorry" to sound genuine, because it was.**

"You're too sweet," Delia smiled.

**That was the hard thing about grief, and the grieving. They spoke another language, and the words we knew always fell short of what we wanted them to say.**

"**I'm so sorry, Delia," I told her. "Really."**

"Trust me, I believe you," Delia sighed. "If I had known about her dad I wouldn't have brought this up, I didn't mean to get into death talk."

**She looked up at me, a piece of bread in one hand. "Thank you," she said, then placed it on the table in front of her. "I am, too." Then she smiled at me sadly, and started to assemble another sandwich. I did the same, and neither of us said anything for a few minutes.**

**The silence wasn't like the ones I'd known lately, though: it wasn't empty as much as chosen. There's an entirely different feel to quiet when you're with someone else, and at any moment it could be broken. **

**Like the difference between a pause and an ending.**

"Yeah, it sort of is," Wes tilted his head thinking about it.

"Because the silences she used to are forced on her, and represent the loss of the life, her dad, in the house," Delia replied sadly.

"**You know what happens when someone dies?" Delia said suddenly, startling me a bit. I kept putting together my sandwich, though not answering: I knew there was more. "It's like, everything and everyone refracts, each person having a different reaction. Like me and Wes. After the divorce, he fell in with this bad crowd,**

Wes looked down, ashamed of the behavior he allowed into his life when his family needed him the most.

Bert put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze, his way of saying he was there. Wes smiled at him.

**Got arrested, she hardly knew what to do with him. But then, when she got sick, he changed. Now he's totally different, now he's so protective of Bert and focused on his welding and the pieces he makes. It's his way of handling."**

"**Wes does welding?" I asked, and then, suddenly, I thought of the sculpture. "Did he do-"**

"**The heart in hand," she finished for me. "Yeah. He did. Pretty incredible, huh?"**

"**It is," I said. "I had no idea. I was talking about it with him and he didn't even tell me."**

"It's not really all that special," Wes shrugged.

"You should be proud of your work it great," Kristy insisted

"**Well, he'll never brag on it," She said pulling the mayonnaise over to her. "that's how he is. His mom was the same way. Quiet and incredible. I really envy that."**

"You're more those things that I will ever be," Wes argued. He got up and gave he a light kiss on the cheek. Delia almost cried and beamed up at him.

**I watched her as she cut another two sandwiches down, the knife clapping against the cutting board. "I don't know," I said. "You seem pretty incredible. Running this business with a baby, and another one on the way."**

"See?" Wes smiled, "Macy agrees with me."

"You and Macy really are perfect for each other," Bert laughed.

Wes sat stunned, he expected those type comments from Kristy, but from Bert was different, Bert s his brother and knows him better than anyone, so for him to say that. It just meant more.

"**Nah." She smiled. "I'm not. When Wish died, it just knocked the wind out of me. Truly. It's like that stupid thing Bert and Wes do, the leaping out thing, trying to scare each other: it was the biggest gotcha in the world ."**

**She looked down at the sandwiches. "I'd just assumed she would be okay. It had never occurred to me she might actually just be . . . gone. You know?"**

"Yeah, and then out of nowhere, she wasn't, then she was gone," Bert whispered to himself.

This time it was Wes' turn to put a hand on his shoulder and show him support.

**I nodded, just barely. I felt bad that I didn't tell her about my dad, chime in with what I knew, how well I knew it. With Delia, though, I wasn't that girl, the one whose dad had died. I wasn't like anybody. And I liked that. It was selfish but true.**

"Don't even think that way," Delia shook her head, "You tell me when you're ready to, I won't think any less of you. Not at all."

Everyone nodded in agreement. They understood her reasons.

"**And then she was," Delia said, her hand on the bread bag. "Gone. Gotcha. And suddenly I had these two boys to take care of, plus a newborn of my own. It was just this huge loss, this huge **_**gap**_**, you know."**

"**I know," I said softly.**

"I should have stopped there," Delia huffed angry at herself that she kept torturing the poor girl.

"You didn't now," Kristy sighed.

"**Some people," she said, and I wasn't even sure she'd heard me, "they can just move on, you know, mourn and cry and be done with it. Or at least seem to be. But for me . . . I don't know. I didn't want to fix it, to forget. It wasn't something that was broken. It's just . . . something that happened. And like that hole, I'm just finding my ways, every day, of working around it. Respecting and remembering and getting on at the same time. You know?"**

**I nodded, but I didn't know. **

"No, she did," Delia agreed sadly, "Not just yet."

"But hopefully soon," Kristy replied.

**I'd chosen instead to just change my route, go miles out of the way, as if avoiding it might make it go away once and for all. I envied Delia. At least she knew what she was up against. **

**Maybe that's what you got when you stood over your grief, faced it finally. A sense of its depths, it's area, the distance across, and the way over or around it, whichever you chose in the end.**

"I'm sure you will figure it out soon," Wes smiled.

"That's the end of the chapter," Kristy announced stretching in her seat stiff from sitting so long.

"I'll read," Delia said holding out her hand.

"Alright," Kristy handed her the book, "Hopefully there will be less depressing parts coming up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: I do **Not** own _The Truth about Forever_ or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.

**Chapter 7**

"**Chapter 6"** Delia Read.

"**Okay," Wes said under his breath. "Watch and learn."**

"Oh, please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing," Kristy groaned.

"I don't know what you mean," Wes smirked.

"I'm confused what's happening?" Bert asked.

"Donneven," Monica replied.

"**Right," I said.**

**We were at the Lakeview Inn, finishing up appetizers for a retirement party, and Wes and I were in the coat closet, where he was teaching me the art if the gotcha. **

"Aw! That's not fair!" Bert shouted outraged.

"Hey," Wes said throwing his hands up in the air, "she has a right to join in if she wants."

"Fine," Bert huffed crossing his arms over his chest, "then I'll just have to get her too."

**I been sent by a woman to hang up her wrap and found him there, perfectly positioned and silent.**

"**Wes?" I'd said, and he'd slid a finger to his lips, gesturing for me to some closer with his other hand. Which I'd done, unthinkingly, even as I'd felt that same fluttering in my stomach I always felt when I was around Wes.**

Wes smiled at that, though when Kristy shot him a look, he just stared out into to space to avoid her. They would figure it out soon enough, there was no need to tell them now.

**Even when we weren't in an enclosed, small space together. Goodness.**

Kristy laughed, "That's the Wes effect."

"I do not have an "effect" I'm just a normal person," Wes said rolling his eyes.

**In the next room, I could hear the party: the clinking of forks against plates, voices trilling in laughter, strains of the piped violin music that the Lakeview Inn had played at my sister's wedding as well.**

"That is so unoriginal," Kristy shook her head.

"**Okay," Wes said his voice so low I would have leaned closer to him if I weren't already about as close as we could get. "It's all about timing."**

**An overcoat that smelled like perfume was hanging in my face: I pushed it aside as quietly as possible. **

"**Not now," Wes whispered. "Not now . . . not now . . ."**

**Then I heard it: footsteps. Muttering. Had to be Bert.**

Bert glared at the book, "This is so messed up."

"Get over it," Kristy snickered, "Payback's a –"

Delia glared at her and she had the good sense to stop there.

"Monkey," or not.

"**Okay . . ." he said, and then he was moving, standing up, going forward, "now. **_**Gotcha!**_**"**

**Bert's shriek, which was accompanied by him flailing backwards and losing his footing, then crashing into the wall behind him. "God!" he said, his face turning red, the redder as he saw me. **

**I couldn't really blame him: there was no way to be splayed on the floor and still look dignified. **

Everyone howled with laughter as Bert face flamed in embarrassment, even if it was only a book this sucked.

"Dang," Wes smiled wiping tears off his face from the hard laughing, "That would have been a good one, I'll just have to get Macy to help with another one."

"I'm sure you will," Kristy laughed and Bert's face wasn't the only one red anymore.

"Not a chance, Macy will be on my team this time around," Bert snickered at him.

"I doubt that," Delia and Kristy laughed.

**He said sputtering, "That was-" **

"**Number six," Wes finished for him. "By my count."**

**Bert got to his feet, glaring at us. "I'm going to get you so good," He said darkly, pointing a finger at Wes, then at me, then back at Wes. "Just you wait."**

"**Leave her out of it," Wes told him. "I was just demonstrating."**

"Yeah, like I'm about to do that," Bert snorted shaking his head.

"**Oh no," Bert said. "She's part of it now. She's one of us. No more coddling for you, Macy."**

"**Bert, you've already jump out at her," Wes pointed out.**

"That's true," Wes said agreeing with his book-self.

"I don't care, if she didn't want to in it she shouldn't have helped you," Bert smirked self-satisfied. Wes rolled his eyes.

"**It's **_**on**_**!" Bert shouted, ignoring this. Then he stalked down the hallway, again muttering, and disappeared into the main room, letting the door bang shut behind him. Wes watched him go, hardly bothered. In fact, he was smiling.**

"It doesn't change anything really," Wes said shrugging.

"**Nice work," I told him, as we started down the hallway to the kitchen.**

"Thank you," Wes said smirking at Bert who threw him the finger under a pillow so Delia wouldn't see.

"**It's nothing," he said. "With enough practice, you too can pull a good gotcha someday."**

"**Frankly," I said, "I'm a little curious about the derivation of all this."**

"**Derivation?"**

Wes chuckled at her use of an SAT word, then again that sounded like something she would say.

"**How it started."**

"**I know what it means," he said. For a second I was horrified, thinking I'd offended him, but he grinned at me. "It's just such an SAT word. I'm impressed."**

"**I'm working on my verbal," I explained.**

"Smart girl," Delia smiled, "You should study more too, Bert."

Bert grimace, Macy was going to get him into trouble.

"**I can tell," He said, nodding at one of the Lakeview Inn valets as he passed. "Truthfully, it's just a dumb thing we started about a year ago. It pretty much came from us living alone in the house after my mom died. It was really quiet, so it was easy to sneak around."**

**I nodded as if I understood this, although I couldn't really picture myself leaping out at my mother from behind a door or plotted plant, no matter how perfect the opportunity.**

"Yeah she would probably give her a heart attack," Bert nodded.

"I definitely wouldn't do that to her mom," Wes agreed.

"**I see," I said.**

"**Plus," Wes continued, "there's just something fun, every once in a while, about getting the shit scared out of you. You know?"**

**This time I didn't nod or agree. I could do without scares, planned or unplanned, for a while. "Must be a guy thing," I said.**

"Definitely," All the girls said. Wes and Bert looked at each other then shrugged, "Maybe."

**He shrugged, pushing the kitchen door open for me.**

"**Maybe," He said.**

That made both Wes and Bert laugh.

**As we walked in, Delia was standing in the center of the room, hands pressed to her chest. Just by the look on her face, I knew something was wrong.**

"Oh lord, what now," Delia groaned.

"**Wait a second," she said. "Everyone freeze."**

**We did. Even Kristy, who normally ignored most directives, stopped what she was doing, a cheese biscuit dangling in midair over her tray.**

Kristy, Bert, and Wes laughed at that, they could picture all too easy.

"**Where," Delia said slowly, taking a look around the room, "are the hams?"**

**Silence. Then Kristy said, her voice low, "Uh-oh."**

"Don't say that, nothing good ever happens after someone says that," Delia sighed rubbing her belly.

"**Don't say that!" Delia moved down the counter, hands suddenly flailing as pulled all the cardboard boxes we'd lugged in closer to her, peering into each of them. "They have to be here! They have to be! We have a **_**system **_**now!"**

"We do?" Bert asked confused.

"I guess we got a system," Kristy shrugged.

"About time," Delia smiled shaking her head. "It is past time really."

**And we did. But it was new, only implemented since the night before, when, en route to a cocktail party, it became apparent that no had packed the glasses. After doubling back and arriving late, Delia had used her current pregnancy insomnia to compile a set of checklists covering everything from appetizers to napkins.**

**We were each given one, for which we were wholly responsible. I was in charge of utensils. If we were lacking tongs, it was all on me. **

"That's a great idea," Delia face lit up. "Why did it take me so long to come up with that, thank God for pregnancy."

"But apparently that still won't work," Bert snickered earning him a glare from Delia.

"**This is not happening," Delia said now, plunging her hands into a small box on the kitchen island hardly big enough for half a ham, let alone the six we were missing. "I remember, they were in the garage, on the side table, all ready to go. I **_**saw**_** them."**

**One the other side of the kitchen door, I could hear voices rising: it was getting more crowded, which meant soon they'd be expecting dinner. **

"We have the worst luck in the world," Kristy groaned.

**Our menu was cheese biscuits and goat cheese to start, followed by green bean casserole, rice pilaf, rosemary dill rolls, and ham. It was a special request. Apparently, these were pork people. **

"My kind of people," Bert smiled rubbing his belly appreciatively.

"Anyone who like food period, is your kind of people," Kristy smirked.

"True," Bert laughed.

"**Okay, Okay, let's just calm down," Delia said, although rustling through the plastic bags full of uncooked rolls with a panicked expression, she seemed like the only one really close to losing it. "Let's retrace our steps. Who was on what?"**

"**I was on appetizers, and they're all here," Kristy said, as Bert came through the swinging door form the main room, an empty tray in his hand. "Bert. Were you on ham?"**

"**No. Paper products and serving platters," he said, holding the one in his hand up as proof. "Why? Are we missing something?"**

"**No," Delia said firmly. "We're not."**

"Yeah that's why you're asking us where stuff is," Bert snickered.

"I know , I just didn't want to admit it," Delia sighed.

"**Monica was on ice," Kristy said, continuing the count. "Macy was utensils, and Wes was glasses and champagne. This means the ham belong to-"she stopped abruptly. "Oh. Delia."**

"Me and pregnant mind," Delia groaned out.

"**What?" Delia said, jerking her head out of a box filled with loaves of bread. "No, wait, I don't think so. I was on-"**

**We all waited. It was, after all, her system.**

"I guess it's fitting then, that I would be the one to break it," Delia chuckled.

"**Main course," she finished.**

"**Uh-oh," Bert said.**

"**Oh God!" Delia slapped a hand to her forehead. "I did have the hams on the side table, and I remember being worried that we might forget them, so while we were packing the van I put them-"**

**Again, we waited.**

"**On the back of my car," Delia finished, placing her palm square in the middle of her forehead. "Oh, my God," she whispered, as if the truth, so horrible, might deafen us all, "they're still at the house. On my **_**car**_**."**

"For a second I thought you were going to say you drove off with it on the hood," Bert chuckled and Delia shot him a look.

"Actually, I could totally picture that happening," Kristy laughed with him.

"**Uh-oh," Bert said again. He was right: it was a full thirty minutes away, and these people were expecting their ham in ten.**

**Delia leaned back against the stove. "This," she said, "is awful."**

"That's an understatement," Wes snickered.

**For a minute, no one said anything. It was a silence I'd grown to expect when things like this happened, the few seconds as we accepted, en masse, the crashing realization that we were, in fact, screwed.**

"Yep you get used to it," Wes nodded.

**Then, as always, Delia pushed on. "Okay," she said, "here's what we are going to do . . . ."**

**So far, I'd done three jobs with Wish since that first one, including a cocktail, a brunch, and a fiftieth-anniversary party. At each, there was one moment-an old man pinching my butt as I passed with scones; the moment Kristy and I collided and her tray bonked me in the nose, showering salmon and crudités down my shirt; the time when Bert hit me with another gotcha, jumping out from a coat rack and sending the stack of plates I was carrying, as well as my blood pressure, skyrocketing-**

"Did you have to do it while she was holding plates?" Delia glared at him.

"Sorry," Bert mumbled.

**When I wondered what in the world I'd been thinking taking this on. At the end of the night, though, when it was all over, I felt something strange, a weird calmness. Almost a peace. It was like those few hours of craziness relaxed something held tight in me, if only for a little while.**

**Most of all, though, it was fun. **

"Good," Kristy smiled.

**Even if I was still learning things, like to duck when Kristy yelled, "Incoming!" meaning she had to get something- a pack of napkins, some tongs, a tray- across a room so quickly that only throwing it would suffice, or never to stand in front of swinging doors, ever, as Bert always pushed them open with too much gusto, without taking into consideration that there might be anything on the other side.**

"I hate when you do that," Kristy said annoyed.

"I'm in a rush, sue me," Bert muttered.

**I learned that Delia hummed when she was nervous, usually "American Pie," and that Monica never got nervous at all, was in fact capable of eating shrimp or crab cakes, hardly bothered, when the rest of us were in total panic mode. And I learned I could always count on Wes **

**For a raised eyebrow, an under-the-breath sarcastic remark, or just a sympathetic look when I found in a bind: no matter where I was in the room, or what was happening, I could look over at the bar and feel that someone, at least, was on my side. **

"Always," Wes smiled, instead of teasing him Kristy just kept her mouth shut and let him have his moment, she was happy he was going to finally find a girl worthy of his time, and not that pot-headed Becky.

**It was the total opposite of what I felt at the library, or how I felt anywhere else, for that matter. Which was probably why I liked it.**

**But then, after the job was over and the van packed up to go home, after we'd stood around while Delia got paid, everyone laughing and trading stories about grabbers and gobblers and grandmas, the buzz of rushing around would wear off.**

"No stay in the buzz," Kristy urged.

**As I began to remember that I had to be at the library the next morning, I could feel myself starting to cross back to my real life, bit by bit.**

"**Macy," Kristy would say, as we put the last of the night's supplies back in Delia garage, "you coming out with us tonight?"**

**She always extended the invitation, even though I said no every time. Which I appreciated. It's nice to have options, even if you can't take them.**

"I will wear you down eventually," Kristy huffed determined.

"**I can't," I'd tell her. "I'm busy."**

"**Okay," she'd say shrugging. "Maybe next time."**

**It went like that, our own little routine, until one night when she squinted at me, curious. "What do you do every night, anyway?" She'd asked.**

"**Just, you know, stuff for school," I'd told her.**

"**Donneven," Monica said, shaking her head.**

"Thank you," Kristy said to Monica.

"Mm-hmm," Monica nodded at her.

"**I'm preparing for the SATs," I said, "and I work another job in the mornings."**

**Kristy rolled her eyes. "It's **_**summertime**_**," she told me. "I mean, I know you're a smarty-pants, but don't you ever take a break? Life is long, you know."**

**Maybe, thought. Or maybe not. Out loud I said, "I just really, you know, have a lot of work to do."**

"She works herself to death," Kristy sighed.

"Which is something you all should try," Delia muttered.

"**Okay," she'd said. "Have fun. Study for me, while you're at it. God knows I need it."**

**So while at home I was still fine-just-fine Macy, wiping up sink splatters immediately and ironing my clothes as soon as they got out of the dryer, the nights when I arrived home from catering, I was someone else,**

**A girl with mussed hair, a stained shirt, smelling of whatever had been spilled or smeared on me.**

"It's gross, that's the down side," Kristy scrunched up her face, disgusted.

**It was like Cinderella in reverse: if I was a princess for my daylight hours, at night I let myself and my composure go, just until the stroke of midnight, when I turned back to princess again; just in time. **

**The ham disaster was like all others, eventually averted. Wes ran to the gourmet grocery where Delia was owed a favor, and Kristy and I just kept walking through with more appetizers, deflecting all queries about when dinner was being served with a bat of the eyelashes and a smile (her idea, of course). **

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Delia said rolling her eyes at Kristy who just shrugged.

**When the ham was finally served-forty-five minutes late-it was a hit, everyone went home happy.**

**It was ten-thirty by the time I finally pulled up at Wildflower Ridge, my headlights swinging across the town common and into our cul-de-sac, where I saw my house, my mailbox, everything as usual, and then something else.**

**My dad's truck.**

"Oh no," Bert huffed shaking his head. "I hope this isn't one of those, the day has faked his death to be with his other family type stories."

"I doubt it, it probably just someone using his old car," Delia replied softly looking sadly at the book.

**It was in the driveway, right where he'd always parked, in front of the garage, left-hand side. I pulled up behind it, sitting there for a second. It was **_**his**_**, no question: I would have known it anywhere.**

**Same rusty bumper, same **EAT** . . . **SLEEP** . . . **FISH **bumper sticker, same chrome toolbox with the dent in the middle from where he's dropped his chainsaw a few years earlier.**

"Thank God, it landed on his toolbox instead of on is foot," Delia said looking horrified.

"He doesn't have our bad luck, Delia," Wes smiled at her. She chuckled at him and shook her head.

**I got out of my car and walked up to it, reaching out my finger to touch the license plate. For some reason I was surprised that it didn't just vanish, like a bubble bursting, the minute I made contact.**

**That was the way ghost were supposed to be, after all.**

**But the metal handle felt real as I pulled open the driver's side door, my heart beating fast in my chest. Immediately, I could smell that familiar mix of old leather, cigar smoke, and the lingering scent of ocean and sand you carry back with you from the beach that you always wish would last, but never does.**

"I know exactly what you mean," Kristy sighed dreamily.

**I loved that truck. It was the place my dad and I spent more time together than anywhere else, me on the passenger side, feet balanced on the dashboard, him with one elbow out the window, tapping the roof alone with the beat on the radio.**

**We went out early Saturday mornings to get biscuits and drive around checking on job sites, drove home from meets in the dark, me curled up in that perfect spot between the seat and the window where I always fell asleep instantly.**

"That sounds so sweet," Delia smiled.

"Reminds me of old road trips with mom," Bert sighed.

**The air conditioners hadn't worked for as long as I'd been alive, and the heat cranked enough to dehydrate you within minutes, but it didn't matter. Like the beach house, the truck was dilapidated, familiar, with its own unique charm: it **_**was**_** my dad. And now it was back.**

**I eased the door shut; then went up to the front door of my house. It was unlocked, and as I stepped inside; kicking off my shoes as I always did, I could feel something beneath my feet. I crouched down, running my finger over the hardwood: it was sand.**

"**Hello?" I said, then listened to my voice bounce around our high ceilings back to me. Afterwards, nothing but silence. **

**My mother was at the sales office, had been there since five. I knew this because she'd left me a message around ten on my cell phone, telling me. Which meant that either sometime in the last five hour my father's truck had driven itself from the coast, or there was another explanation.**

"I think you should go with another explanation," Bert smirked trying to lighten the dreary feel in the room, man this book can be depressing at times.

**I went back down the hallway and looked up to the second floor. My bedroom door, which I always left closed to it either cooler or warmer, was open.**

**I wasn't sure what to think as I climbed the stairs, remembering how many times I'd wished my dad would just turn up at the house one day, this whole thing one big misunderstanding we could all laugh about together. If only.**

"If only," They all sighed quietly, that could understand that too well, especially Wes.

**When I got to my room, I stopped in the open door and noticed, relieved, everything familiar: my computer, my closed closet door, my window. There was the SAT book on my bedside table, my shoes lined up by the waste basket.**

**All as it should be.**

**But then I looked at the bed and saw the dark head against my pillow. Of course my father wasn't back. But Caroline was.**

"Oh, right, I forgot about her sister," Bert nodded snapping his fingers.

"Oh yeah the one like Kristy," Wes chimed in laughing when she glared at him.

**She'd just stopped in for a visit. But already, she was making waves.**

"**Caroline," my mother said. Her voice, once polite, then stern, was now bordering on snappy. "I'm not discussing this. This not the place or time."**

"**Maybe this isn't the place," Caroline told her, helping herself to another breadstick. "But Mom, really. It's time."**

**It was Monday, and we were all at Bella Luna, a fancy little bistro near the library. For once, I wasn't eating lunch alone, instead taking my hour with my mother and sister.**

"Much better," Delia nodded her approval.

**Now, though, I was realizing maybe I would have preferred to eat my regular sandwich on a bench alone, as it became increasingly clear that my sister had come with an agenda.**

"**I just think," she said now, glancing at our waitress as she passed, "that it's not what Dad would have wanted. He loved that house. And it's sitting there, rotting. You should see all the sand in the living room, and the way the steps to the beach are sagging. It's horrible. Have you even been down to check on it since he died?"**

**I watched my mother's face as she heard this, the way, despite her best efforts, she reacted to the various breaches of conduct we'd long ago agreed on concerning my father and how he was mentioned.**

"He sister shouldn't for this one her mom this way," Delia sighed.

"Yeah this was a little much, but maybe it will be a good thing," Kristy shrugged.

**My mother and I preferred to focus on the future: this was the past. But my sister didn't see it that way. From the minute she'd arrived-driving his truck because he Lexus had blown a gasket while at the beach-it was like she'd brought him with her as well.**

"**The beach house is the least of my concerns, Caroline," my mother said now, as our waitress passed by again with a frazzled expression. We'd been waiting for our entrees for over twenty minutes. "I'm doing this new phase of townhouses, and the zoning has been extremely difficult . . ."**

"**I know," Caroline said. "I understand how hard it has been for you. For both of you."**

"She doesn't seem like she does, plus I don't think she knows how much pain they're in now," Kristy frowned.

"**I don't think you do." My mother put her hand on her water glass but didn't pick it up or take a sip. "Otherwise you would understand that this isn't something I want to talk about right now."**

**My sister sat back in her chair twisting her wedding ring around her finger. "Mom," she said finally, "I'm not trying to upset you. I'm just saying that it's been a year and a half . . . and maybe it's time to move on. Dad would have wanted you to be happier than this. I know it."**

"She's completely right about that much though," Delia smiled, "of course he would want them to move on and be happy."

"**I thought this was about the beach house," my mother said stiffly.**

"**It is," Caroline said. "But it's also about living. You can't hide behind work for forever, you know. I mean, when was the last time you and Macy took a vacation or did something nice for yourselves?"**

"**I was at the coast just a couple weeks ago."**

"That doesn't count." Kristy said shaking her head, "that was for work."

"**For work," Caroline said. "You work late into the night, you get up early in the morning, you don't do anything but think about the development. Macy never goes out with friends, she spends all her time holed up studying, and she's not going to be seventeen forever-"**

"**I'm fine," I said.**

"No you're not," Delia sighed, even she could tell she wasn't.

"I hope she will come around though, with our help," Wes offered.

"Me too," Delia nodded.

**My sister looked at me, her face softening. "I know you are," she said. "But I just worry about you. I feel like you're missing out on something you won't be able to get back later."**

"**Not everyone needs a social life like you had, Caroline," my mother said. "Macy's focused on school, and her grades are excellent. She has a wonderful boyfriend. Just because she's not out drinking beer at two in the morning doesn't mean she isn't living a full life."**

"**I'm not saying her life isn't full," Caroline said. "I just think she's awfully young to be so serious about everything."**

"Yeah, we need to lighten her up a little," Kristy agreed.

"**I'm fine," I said again, louder this time. They both look at me. "I am," I said.**

"**All I'm saying is that you both could use a little more fun in your lives," Caroline said. "Which is why I think we should fix up the beach house and all go down there for a few weeks in August. Wally's working this big case all summer, he's gone all the time, so I can really devote myself to this project. And then, when it's finished, we'll all go down there together, like old times. It'll be the perfect way to end the summer."**

"**I'm not talking about this now," my mother said, as the waitress, now red-faced, passed by again. "Excuse me," my mother said, too sharply, and the girl jumped. "We've been waiting for our food over twenty minutes."**

"I hate restaurant like that, I know we are not much better but they should have it more together than simple caterers," Delia huffed.

"**It will be right out," the girl said automatically, and then scurried toward the kitchen. I glanced at my watch: five minutes until one. I knew that Bethany and Amanda were most likely in their chairs already, the clock behind them counting down the seconds until they finally had something legitimate to hold against me.**

"I can't wait to get my hands on those two," Kristy smirked.

"You will do nothing," Delia glared, "Let Macy figure it out for herself. She needs to."

"Fine," Kristy grumbled.

**My mother was focusing on some distant point across the restaurant, her face completely composed. Looking at her in the light falling across the table, I realized that she looked tired, older than she was.**

**I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her really smile, **

**Or laugh a big belly laugh like she always did when my dad made one of his stupid jokes.**

**No one else ever laughed-they were more groan inducing than anything else-but my mother always thought they were hysterical.**

"That's what wives do," Delia chuckled thinking of all her husband's terrible jokes, he was at least adorable while he tried to tell them.

"**When I first got to the beach house," Caroline said, as my mother kept her eyes locked on that distant spot, "I just sat in the driveway and sobbed. It was like losing him all over again, I swear."**

**I watched my mother swallow, saw her shoulders rise, then fall, as she took a breath.**

"**But then," my sister continued, her voice soft, "I went inside and remembered how much he loved that stupid moose head over the fireplace, even though it smells like a hundred year old socks. I remembered you trying to cook dinner on that stove top with only one burner, having to alternate pans every five minutes just to make macaroni and cheese and frozen peas, because you swore we wouldn't eat fish one more night if it killed you."**

**My mother lifted up her hand to her chin, pressing two fingertips there, and I felt a pang in my chest. Stop it, I wanted to say to Caroline, but I couldn't even form the words. I was listening too. Remembering.**

"She should take it easy on her poor mother," Delia sighed angrily. She didn't eant the poor woman to start crying. She didn't need that.

"**And that stupid grill he loved so much, even though it was a total fire hazard," Caroline continued, looking at me now. "Remember how he always used to store stuff in it, like that Frisbee or the spare keys, and then forget and turn it on and set them on fire? **

**Do you there are still like five blackened keys sitting at the bottom of that thing?"**

**I nodded, but that was all I could manage. Even that, actually, was hard.**

"Poor Macy," Kristy cried, holding back her own tears.

"I wish there was something we could do for them now," Bert said quietly.

"After the books we will," Wes said.

"**I haven't meant to let the house go," my mother said suddenly, startling me. "It's just been one more thing to deal with . . . . I've had too much happening here." It can't be that easy, I thought, to get her to talk about this.**

**To bring her closer to the one thing that I'd circled with her, deliberately avoiding, for months now. "I just-"**

"**It needs some new shingles," Caroline told her, speaking slowly carefully. "I talked to the guy next door, Rudy? He's a carpenter. He walked through with me. It needs basic stuff, a stove a screen door, and those steps fixed. Plus a coat of paint in and out wouldn't hurt."**

"**I don't know," my mother said, and I watched as Caroline put her hand on my mothers, their finger intertwining, Caroline's purposefully, my mother's responding seemingly without thinking. **

"Yes comfort her, don't ambush her," Delia nodded.

**This reaching out to my mom was another thing I'd been working up to, never quite getting the nerve, but she made it look simple.**

"**It's just so much to think about."**

"**I know," my sister said, in that flat-honest way she had always been able to say anything. "But I love you, and I'll help you. Okay?"**

**My mother blinked, then blinked again. It was the closet I'd seen her to crying in over a year.**

"Maybe she needs to cry then, make her feel better," Kristy mused.

"I doubt she'll do that in the middle of the restaurant," Delia supplied.

"**Caroline," I said, because I felt like I had to, someone had to.**

"**It's okay," she said to me, as if she was sure. No question. I envied her that, too. "It's all going to be okay."**

**Even though I scarfed down my linguini pesto in record time and ran the two blocks back to the library, it was one-twenty by the time I got back to work. Amanda, seated in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, narrowed her eyes at me as I let myself behind the desk and, as I always did, batted around their thrones to reach my crummy little station in the back.**

"They are not queens, they don't have thrones," Kristy groaned.

"**Lunch ends at one," she said, enunciating each word carefully as if my tardiness was due to a basic lack of comprehension. Beside her, Bethany smiled, just barely, before lifting a hand to cover her mouth.**

"**I know, I'm sorry," I said. "It was unavoidable."**

"**Nothing is unavoidable," she said snippily before turning back to her computer monitor. I felt my face turn red, that deep burning kind of shame, as I sat down.**

**Then, about a year and a half too late, it hit me.**

"Finally, thank God," Kristy smiled.

**I was never going to be perfect.**

**And what had all my efforts gotten me, really, in the end? **

**A boyfriend who pushed me away the minute I cracked, making the mistake of being human. **

**Great grades that would still never be good enough for girls who Knew Everything. **

**A quiet, still life, free of any risks, and so many sleepless nights to spend within it, my heart heavy, keeping secrets my sister had empowered herself by telling. This life was fleeting, and I was still searching for the way I wanted to spend the time it that would make me happy, full, okay again.**

**I didn't know what it was, not yet. But something told me I wouldn't find it here.**

"I'm so proud of her I could cry," Kristy chuckled wiping away fake tears. Wes rolled his eyes though he was happy too.

"Maybe now she can truly start to move forward, now that she not holding herself up to an impossible standard," Delia mused.

**So a few days later, back at Delia's after working a late-afternoon bridal shower (in a log cabin lodge, no less, very woody) and encountering another disaster of sorts (soda water dispenser explosion during toasts), I'd made it through another day with Wish that was pretty much like the others. Until now.**

"**Hey Macy," Kristy said, wiping something off the hem of her black fringed skirt, part of the gypsy look she was sporting, "You coming out with us tonight?"**

**It was our routine now, how she always asked me. As much part of the schedule as everything in my other life was, dependable just like clockwork. We both knew our parts. But this time,**

**I left the script, took a leap, and improvised.**

"**Yeah," I said. "I am."**

"Yes!" Kristy said standing up and taking a bow while they all applauded. "I knew I would wear her down eventually, now she's all mine."

"Oh Lord, I'm going to be waiting forever for you two," Bert groaned looking annoyed.

"**Cool," she said, smiling at me as she hitched her purse over her shoulder. The weird thing was how she didn't even seem surprised.**

**Like she knew, somehow, that eventually I'd come around. "Come on."**

"I did know," Kristy smiled.

"That's the end of the chapter," Delia said holding out the book.

"I'll read," Wes grabbed it.

"I bet you will," Kristy said, making up for letting his other comment slide earlier.


	8. Author's Alert! Read!

**Author's note! Important please read!**

**So recently as u all have noticed my reading midnight sun got taken down my apologies that I didn't address this sooner I am looking into a site where I can re post them and I will be alerting everyone where to find them.**

**As for my reading The Truth About Forever if the same happens I will do the same for them, be not afraid I have put too much time and effort into the writing to just give up now! thank you!**


	9. Important! Author's Alert!

**jright**

**It's a shame we can't write these type stories anymore, I hope my ****reading the truth about forever**** doesn't get taken down, but if it does, I will be looking for a place to post it as well. I don't go down without a fight. Thank you, and happy reading!**


	10. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer**: I do **Not** own _The Truth about Forever_ or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.

Sorry it's taken forever to update but the next chapter should be up within the next three days I promise and unlike other writers I'll be keeping this one. Again all apologies.

**Chapter 8**

"**Chapter 7"** Wes read.

"**Oh, man," Kristy said, carefully guiding another section of my hair over the roller, "Just wait. This is going to be **_**great**_**."**

**Personally, I wasn't so sure. If I'd known that going out with Kristy meant subjecting myself to a makeover, I probably would have thought twice before saying yes. **

"Too late now, you're mine," Kristy smirked, rubbing her hands together.

"Great." Bert groaned, to him, that meant another girl to wait hours on to get ready.

**Now, though, it was too late.**

**I'd had my first reservations when she'd insisted I shed my work clothes and put on a pair of jeans she was absolutely sure would fit me (she was right)**

"Of course I was," Kristy said rolling her eyes.

**And a tan top that she swore would not show off too much cleavage (she was wrong).**

Wes gritted his teeth but said nothing to that.

Kristy saw his jaw flex, "is there a problem Wes?"

"No." He muttered through his teeth, he knew some of his more questionable friends would say something if it were over the top, he flinched at the idea of them gauging at her.

**Of course, I couldn't really verify either of these things completely, as the only objective view was the mirror on the back of the closet door, which now was facing the wall so that, **

**In her words, I wouldn't see myself until I was "done."**

"Oh course not," Kristy said in a "duh" kind of way, "it would ruin the entire effect."

"It's a small little party, barley that even, not prom," Bert moaned annoyed.

"So, you still have to look nice," Kristy huffed.

**All I had to go on was Monica, who was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, smoking a cigarette she had dangling out the window and making occasional ummm-hmm noises whenever Kristy needed a second opinion.**

**Clearly, this was a different sort of Friday night than I was used to. **

**But then, everything was different here.**

"That's because she hasn't been living," Delia said under her breath.

**Kristy and Monica's house wasn't a house at all but a trailer, although, as we approached it, Kristy explained that she preferred to call it a "doublewide,"**

**As there was less redneck association with that moniker.**

"It's true," Kristy shrugged.

"Mmm-hmm," Monica agreed.

**To me, it looked like something out of a fairy tale, a small structure painted cobalt blue with a big sprawling garden beside it.**

**There her grandmother Stella, whom I met the night I was lost, grew the flowers and produced she sold at her stand and to local restaurants.**

**I'd seen lots of gardens before, even fancy ones in my neighborhood. But this one was incredible.**

"Yeah it is," Bert smiled; he loved that garden, even though he got lost in it when he was little.

**Green and lush, it grew up and around the doublewide, making the structure, with its bright cobalt color and red door, look like one more exotic bloom.**

**Along the front, sunflowers moved lazily in the breeze, brushing a side window: beneath them were a row of rosebushes, their perfume-like scent permeating the air.**

"Sometimes it so thick you can get dizzy," Delia chuckled.

"Yep," Kristy nodded, and then smiled, "but at least you go down into something beautiful."

**From there, the greenery spread sideways. I saw a collection of cacti, all different shapes and sizes, poking out from between two pear trees.**

**There were blueberry bushes beside zinnias and daisies and coneflowers, woolly lamb's ear up against bright purple lilies and red hot pokers.**

"The lilies are my favorite," Kristy smiled fondly.

**Instead of set rows, the plots were laid out along narrow paths, circling and encircling. Bamboo framed a row of flowering trees, which led into one small garden plot with tiny lettuces poking up through the dirt, followed by pecan trees next to geraniums,**

**And beside them a huge clump of purple irises. **

"I love those, the color is so rich and the smell is amazing," Delia sighed smiling.

**And then there was the smell: of fruit and flowers, fresh dirt and earth worms. It was incredible, and I found myself just breathing it in, the smell lingering on me long after we'd gone inside.**

"Best perfume in the world," Kristy chuckled. "I've got compliments before."

**Now Kristy slid another bobby pin over a curler, smoothing with her hand to catch a stray piece of hair that was hanging over my eyes.**

"**You know," I said, warily, "I'm not really a big hair person."**

"Ehh," Kristy uttered scrunching up her face. "I would never do that to you."

"**Oh, God, me neither." She picked up another roller. "But this is going to be wavy, not big. Just trust me, okay? I'm really good with hair. It was, like, an obsession with me when I was bald."**

"That's going to surprise her," Delia said yawning, being pregnant was taking a toll on her energy supply.

"I probably just trying to be honest with her," Kristy shrugged. "Best to get everything out in the open now, like ripping off a Band-Aid."

**Because she was behind me, fussing with the rollers, I couldn't see her face as she said this. I had no idea if her expression was flippant or grave or what. **

"Neither, I've told this story enough times that it doesn't really bother me anymore," Kristy said waving her hand dismissively, as though Macy were in the room questioning her now.

**I looked at Monica, who was flipping through a magazine, not even listening.**

**Finally I said, "You were bald?"**

"**Yup. When I was twelve. I had to have a bunch of surgeries, including one on the back of my head, so they had to shave all my hair off," she said, brushing out a few of the loose tendrils around my face. "I was in a car accident. That's how I got my scars."**

"**Oh," I said, suddenly I was worried I had been staring at them too much, or she wouldn't have brought it up. "I didn't-"**

"I doubt she did," Kristy shook her head; "in fact I bet she didn't look or ask me at all."

"Then why would you bring it up now?" Bert asked.

"Probably because I'm used to people asking, and since she didn't, I feel even more compelled to tell her," Kristy said honestly. "There no point in tip-toeing around it."

"I guess I see your point," Bert conceded.

"**I know," she said easily, hardly bothered. "But it's hard to miss them, right? Usually people ask, but you didn't. Still, I figured you were probably wondering. You'd be surprised how many people just walk right up and ask, point-blank, like they're asking what time it is."**

"**That's rude," I said.**

"I agree," Delia said shaking her head in disgust.

"**Mmm-hmm," Monica agreed, stubbing her cigarette out in the windowsill.**

"Thank you," Delia nodded to Monica.

Monica glanced at her lazily and then went back to checking her nails.

**Kristy shrugged. "Really, I kind of prefer it. I mean, it's better that just staring and acting like you're not.**

"They shouldn't do the either," Delia huffed but Kristy just shrugged, like she had said it didn't really bother her anymore, it was just the way things were.

**Kids are the best. They'll just look right at me and say, "What's wrong with your face?" I like that.**

**Get it out in the open. I mean, shit, it's not like it isn't anyway. That's the reason why I dress up so much, you know, because people are already staring. Might as well give them a show. You know?"**

"Yeah, I see your point," Bert mumbled.

**I nodded, still processing all this.**

"**Anyway," Kristy continued, doing another roller, "it happened when I was twelve. My mom was on one of her benders, taking me to school, and she ran off the road and hit this fence, and then a tree.**

**They had to cut me out of the car. Monica, of course, was smart enough to have chicken pox so she didn't have to go to school that day."**

"**Donneven," Monica said.**

"**She feels guilty," Kristy explained. "It's a sister thing."**

**I looked at Monica, who was wearing her normal impassive expression as she examined her fingernails. She didn't look like she felt particularly bad to me, but then again so far I'd only seen her with one expression, a sort of tired blankness.**

"I have practice reading her face, it a sister thing," Kristy smiled.

**I figured maybe it was like a Rorschach inkblot: you saw in it whatever you needed or wanted to.**

"It definitely is," Bert chuckled agreeing with Kristy's statement, he was more inclined to believe Macy's theory, though he had seen her with a little more emotion, but only a little.

"**Besides the scars on my face," Kristy was saying, "there's also one on my lower back, from the fusion, and a big nasty one on my butt from the skin graft. Plus there are a couple on my scalp, but you can't see those since my hair grew back."**

"**God," I said. "That's horrible."**

**She picked up another curler. "I did not like being bald, I can tell you that much. I mean, there's only so much you can do with a hat or a scarf, you know? Not that I didn't try. The day my hair started to come in for real, I cried I was so happy.**

"I think I actually cried a little," Kristy said in a small voice. Nobody, not even Bert, said a word to that.

**Now I can't bring myself to cut it more than just a tiny bit every few months. I **_**relish**_** my hair now."**

"**It's really nice,' I told her. "Your hair, I mean."**

Kristy blushed and smiled, "Aww, thank you."

"**Thanks," she said. "I'm telling you, I think I appreciate it more than most people. I never complain about a bad hair day, that's for sure."**

**She climbed off the bed, tucking the hairbrush in her pocket before crouching down in front of me to secure a few loose wisps of hair with a bobby pin. **

"**Okay," she said, "you're almost set, so let's see . . . Monotone."**

"Donneven," Monica said, with a surprising amount of seriousness in her voice.

Wes almost laughed when her read the next line.

"**Nuh-uh," Monica said, sounding surprisingly adamant.**

"**Oh, come on! If you'd just let me try something, for once, you'd see that-"**

"**Donneven."**

"Have a little faith in me," Kristy pleaded to Monica, Monica pointedly ignore her.

"_**Monica**_**."**

**Monica shook her head slowly. "**_**Bettaquit**_**," she warned.**

Kristy huffed crossing her arms over her chest, "you let me have no fun."

**Kristy sighed, shaking her head. "She refuses to take fashion risks," she said, as if this was a true tragedy. Turning back to her sister, she held up her hands in a visualize-this sort of way.**

"**Look. I've got one word for you." She paused, for dramatic effect. "Pleather."**

"No," Monica said at her breaking out of her default word catalog. Kristy stuck her tongue out at her.

**In response to this, Monica got up and started toward the door, shaking her head.**

"**Fine," Kristy said, shrugging, as Monica went down the hallway, grabbing her purse off the floor by the door, "just wear what you have on, like you always do. But you won't be dynamic!"**

Monica's board expression made it clear that that was clearly not a problem for her, not in the slightest.

**The front door slammed shut, responding to this, but Kristy hardly seemed bothered, instead just walked back to her closet and stood in front of it, her hands on her hips.**

**Looking out the window beside me, I could see Monica start up the driveway, altogether undynamically, and as usual, exceptionally slowly.**

**Kristy bent down, pulling a pair of scuffed penny loafers out from under the hanging clothes and tossed them to me.**

"Penny loafers?" Delia asked confused.

"I'm sure I'll explain," Kristy said smiling innocently.

"**Now, I know what you're thinking," she said, as I looked down at them. "But penny loafers are entirely underrated. You'll see. And we can do your cleavage with this great bronzer-I think it's in the bathroom."**

"I think the bronzer is a bit much Kristy," Delia said in her stern motherly voice.

"Trust me, I know how to dress people, it won't be inappropriate I swear," Kristy raised her right hand up in a promise. Delia rolled her eyes but let it go.

**And then she was gone, pulling open the bedroom door and heading down the hallway, still muttering to herself. My head felt heavy under the rollers, my neck straining as I looked down at the tank top she'd given me to wear.**

**The straps had tiny threads of glitter woven throughout, and the neckline plunged much farther than anything I owned. It was way too dressy to go with the jeans, which were faded, the cuffs rolled up and frayed at the ankle; a heart was drawn on the knee in ballpoint pen.**

"They contrast each other to form a unique and sassy look," Kristy smiled, she knew exactly what she was wearing from the description and her future self was a genius. It would look perfect on her.

**Looking at it, the solid blackness at its center, the crooked left edge, not quite right, all I could think was that these weren't my clothes, this wasn't who I was.**

**I'd been acting out against Bethany and Amanda, but I was the one who would really pay if this went wrong.**

"I can see her point on that," Bert said. "But we aren't going to go to out of control, we're probably just taking her somewhere to chill out and relax."

"It's just the nerves talking," Kristy sighed.

**I have to get out of here, I thought, and stood up, pulling one of the curlers by my temple loose and dropping it on the bed. A single corkscrew curl dropped down over my eyes and I stared at it, surprised, as it dangled in my field of vision, the smallest part of me transformed.**

**But I was leaving. I was.**

"No, you have to stay," Kristy wined, "all that hard work gone to waste."

"Kristy that is hardly the most important issue here," Wes snapped annoyed. "If she doesn't feel comfortable you can't make her go."

Delia nodded her head in agreement.

Kristy just sank in the chair and sulked

**My watch said 6:15. If I left now, I could get home in time to be back on my schedule as if I'd never strayed from it.**

**I'd tell Kristy my mom had called me on my phone, saying she needed me, and that I was sorry, maybe another time.**

**I stood up, pulling another curler out, then another, dropping them on the bed as I hurriedly slung my purse over my shoulder. I was almost to the door when Kristy came back down the hallway, a small compact in her hands.**

"**This stuff is great," she said. "It's like an instant tan, and we'll just put it-"**

"**I've just realized," I said, plunging right in to my excuses, "I really think-"**

"A little trust, please Macy," Kristy begged.

**She looked up at me then, her eyes widening. "Oh, God, I totally agree," she said nodding. "I didn't see it before, but yeah, you're absolutely right."**

"**What?"**

"**About your hair," she said as she came into the room. I found myself backing up until I bumped against the bed again. Kristy reached past me, grabbing a white shirt that was lying on one of the pillows and, before I could stop her, she'd slid my arm inside one sleeve. I was too distracted to protest.**

"**My hair?' I said, as she eased my other arm in, then grabbing the shirttails, knotting them loosely around my waist.**

Kristy nodded at the improvements, she hoped she would be able to convince Macy to stay and go with them.

"**What?"**

**She reached up, spreading her fingers and pulling them through my hair, stretching out the curls. "I was going to brush it out, but you're right, it looks better like that all tousled. It's great. See?"**

**And then she walked over to the closet door, pushing it shut, and I saw myself.**

**Yes, the jeans were faded and frayed, the heart on the leg crooked, too dark. But they fit me really well: they could have been mine.**

"And I've got her back," Kristy smiled.

Wes rolled his eyes but didn't complain; if Macy wanted to go then it was fine. As long as she was comfortable then all was well.

**And the tank top was a bit much, glittering in so many places from the overhead light, but the shirt over it toned it down, giving only glimpses here and there. The shoes, which had looked dorky when I put them on, somehow went with the jeans, which hit in such a way that they showed a thin sliver of my ankle.**

**And my hair, without the clear, even part that I worked so hard for every morning, drawing a comb down the center with mathematical precision, was loose and falling over my shoulders, softening my features.**

**None of it should have worked together. But somehow, it did.**

"Of course it did," Kristy clapped happily.

Wes had to control his expression, he didn't really care much for just looked but he would be lying if he said he wasn't hoping to be able to see it soon. It sounded like she looked beautiful.

"**See? I told you," Kristy said from behind me, where she was standing smiling, proud of her handiwork, as I just stared, seeing the familiar in all these changes.**

**How weird it was that so many bits and pieces, all diverse, could make something whole. Something with potential. "Perfect."**

**It took Kristy considerably longer to assemble her own look, a retro sixties outfit of white go-go boots, a pink shirt, and a short skirt. By the time we finally went out to meet Bert, he'd been waiting for us in the doublewide's driveway for almost a half an hour.**

"**It's about time," he snapped as we came up to the ambulance. "I've been waiting for forever."**

"That going to suck royally, can't you speed it up a little," Bert wined.

"Nope, perfection can't be rushed," Kristy smirked at him.

"Give it up now Bert," Delia smiled, "when it comes to women you'll be waiting for the rest of your life for them to get ready."

Bert groaned again and this time Wes joined.

"**Does twenty minutes constitute forever now?" Kristy asked.**

"**It does when you're stuck out here waiting for someone who is selfish, ungrateful, and think the whole world revolves around her," Bert said, then cranked up the music he was playing-a women wailing, loud and dramatic-ensuring that any retort to this would be drowned out entirely.**

**Kristy tossed her purse inside the ambulance, then grabbed hold of her side of the door, pulling herself up. The music was still going, reaching some sort of climax, with a lot of thundering guitars. "Bert," she yelled, "can you **_**please**_** turn that down?"**

"If you can't get ready faster, then I can't turn my music down," Bert snickered.

Kristy shot him a death glare.

"**No," her yelled back.**

"**Pink Floyd. It's my punishment, he knows how much I hate it," she explained to me. To Bert she said, "Then can you at least turn on the lights back here for a second? Macy can't see anything."**

**A second later, the florescent light over her head flickered, buzzed, and then came on, bathing everything in a gray, sallow light. It was so hospital-like I felt nervousness that had been simmering in my stomach since we'd left the house-ambulance phobia-begin to build.**

"Sorry about that," Bert muttered, he wanted the car, but he could understand Macy's aversion to it.

"**See, he'll do it for **_**you**_**," she said. She stuck her hand out to me. "Here, just grab on and hoist yourself up. You can do it. It's not as bad as it looks."**

**I reached up and took her hand, surprised at her strength as she pulled me up, and the next thing I knew I was standing inside the ambulance, ducking the low ceiling, hearing the buzz of that light in my ear.**

**There was now an old brown plaid sofa against one wall, and a small table wedged between it and the driver's seat. Like a traveling living room, I thought, as Kristy clambered around it, grabbing her purse on the way, and slip into the passenger seat.**

**I sat down on the couch.**

"**Bert, please turn that down," Kristy yelled over the music, which was now pounding in my ears. He ignored her, turning his head to look out the window. "Bert. Bert!"**

**Finally, as the shrieking reached a crescendo, Bert reached over, hitting the volume button. And suddenly, it was quiet. Except for a slow, knocking sound. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.**

"I doubt that's the music, it's probably Monotone," Kristy said looking over at her. Monica shrugged then went back to examining her nails.

**I realized suddenly that the sound was coming form the back doors, so I got up, and pushed them open. Monica, a cigarette poking out the side of her mouth, looked up at me.**

"**Hand," she said.**

"**Put that out first," Bert said, watching her in the review mirror. "You know there's no smoking in the Bertmobile."**

"I agree," Delia said shooting looks at Monica and Kristy, they both nodded.

**Monica took one final drag, dropped the cigarette to the ground, and stepped on it. She stuck her hand out again, and I hoisted her up, the way Kristy had done for me. Once in, she collapsed on the couch, as if that small activity had taken just about everything she had.**

"We need to get you more active," Kristy muttered.

"Donneven," Monica murmured.

"**Can we go now please?" Bert asked as I pulled the doors shut. Up in the passenger seat, Kristy was messing with the radio, the wailing woman now replaced by a boppy pop beat.**

"**Or would you like another moment or two to drive me insane?"**

"You probably do," Bert said under his breath, Wes who was sitting close to him chuckled at him.

**Kristy rolled her eyes. "Where's Wes?"**

"**He's meeting us there. If we ever get there." Pointed, annoyed, at the digital clock on the dashboard, which said 7:37. "Look at that! The night is just ticking away. Ticking!"**

"Oh, would you calm down." Kristy groaned at him, "It is more than early, we have plenty of time."

Bert huffed but didn't argue, fighting with her over time was always useless anyway.

"**For God sakes, it's early," Kristy said. "We've got plenty of time."**

**Which, I soon found out, was a good thing. We'd need it, with Bert behind the wheel.**

Everyone, even Wes, cracked up laughing at Bert.

"Hey!" Bert shouted at the book.

**He was a slow driver. **

More laughing, possibly harder.

"You guys suck," Bert muttered angrily, looking at the floor with a blush coloring him from his neck to his hair-line.

**More than slow, he was also incredibly cautious, a driver's Ed teachers dream. **

Bert glared at the book, "Okay I get it, I drive slow; can we move on now!"

**He paused for green lights, came to full stops before railroad crossings that hadn't seen trains in years, and obeyed the speed limit rigorously, sometimes even dropping below it.**

**All the while, he had both hands on the wheel in the ten-and-two position, watching the road like a hawk, prepared for any and all obstacles or hazards.**

Delia hurried to Bert defense as the boy in question was attempting to sink into the couch.

"Bert, it's good to be cautious, believe me, there are so many teen driving accidents that this is nothing to be ashamed of," Delia said honestly, "but you can at least do the speed limit sweet heart, sometimes driving too slow and cautious can be just as hazardous, okay?"

"Okay," Bert sighed and nodded, he mouthed a thank you to her and she smiled.

**So it seemed like ages later that we finally turned off the main road and onto a gravel one, then began driving on grass, over small rises and dips, toward an area where several cars were parked, encircling a clearing with a few wooden picnic tables in the center. **

**People were sitting at them, on them, grouped all around, and there were several flashlights scattered across the surfaces of the tables, sending beams of light in all directions.**

**Bert backed in, so we were facing the tables, then cut the engine.**

"**Finally," Kristy said, unbuckling her seat belt with a flourish.**

"**You could have walked," Bert told her.**

"We probably almost did," Kristy muttered under her breath.

"**I feel like we did," she said. Then she pushed her door open, and I heard voices nearby, someone laughing. "I'm going to get a beer. Anybody else want one?"**

"I am going to ignore this," Delia replied and everyone looked sheepishly at her. This was going to be awkward. "Me and Wish you to get into some crazy situations when we were your age so I cannot talk. _But_, Bert I better not hear about you drinking, you are far too young."

"Believe me you won't I'm not really into drinking," Bert answered honestly. "I just go to see a few friends and girls of course."

"Plus, I'm the driver," He added seriously.

"Good," Delia smiled.

"**Me," Monica said, standing up and pushing open the back doors. She eased herself out with a pained expression, then started across the grass.**

"**Macy?" Kristy asked.**

"**Oh, no thanks," I said. "I'm fine."**

Delia nodded in approval.

"**Okay." She climbed out the front door, letting it fall shut behind her. "Be right back."**

**I watched them cross into the clearing and walk past one of the picnic tables to a keg that was under some nearby trees.**

**Two guys were standing by it, and one of them, who was tall with a shock of red hair, immediately went to work getting Kristy a beer, eyeing her appreciatively as he did so.**

Kristy smirked at that, maybe he would be a good guy.

**Monica was standing by with a bored expression, while the redhead's friend shot her sideways looks, working up to saying something.**

"Go for it Monotone," Kristy smiled over to her.

"Bettaquit," Monica muttered.

**Bert was sitting on the back bumper of the ambulance, scanning the crowd, and I joined him, letting my feet dangle down. Most faces here were new to me, which made sense, since this was more of a Talbert High crowd, while I went to Jackson, on the other side of town. '**

**Still, I did recognize a few people I knew from school. I wondered if any of them knew me.**

"Well, if she's been as catatonic as she says she has, then I doubt it," Delia sighed.

**I looked across the clearing then, and saw Wes. He was standing with a group of guys around as old mustang, talking, and seeing him I felt that same sort of lurch in my stomach as I had the first night I'd met him,**

Wes let his smile slip out at that, Bert caught it and started laughing.

"I bet that makes you happy doesn't it," Bert snickered.

"Shut-up," Wes said his face on fire.

**And the night he'd pulled me out of the hole, and just about every time we'd crossed paths since. I couldn't explain it, had never felt it before: it was completely out of my control. So idiotic, I thought, and yet here I was again staring.**

**After a minute or two he broke off from the group and stared across the clearing. While I was making a pointed effort not to watch him-or, okay, not to watch him the entire time-it was hard not to notice, as I took a glance around the circle, that I was not alone in my observations.**

**I counted at least three other girl doing the same thing. I wondered if they felt as stupid as I did. **

"I doubt it, they are ridiculous, at least she kind of knows me," Wes shook his head, "plus she knows she being silly, they probably don't even care."

**Probably not.**

"**Hey," he said. "What took you guys so long?"**

**Bert rolled his eyes, nodding toward Kristy, who was now coming back toward us with Monica. "What do you think?"**

"**I heard that," she said. "You know it take time to look like this. You can't just throw this sort of outfit together."**

"Please," Bert shot her a look.

"You can't, don't be mad at me," Kristy rolled her eyes.

**Bert narrowed his eyes, looking at her. "No?"**

**Ignoring this, she said, "A fat lot of good it's doing me here, though. There aren't any good prospects."**

"**What about that guy at the keg?" Bert asked.**

"**Please." She sighed. "Can't a girl have high standards? I don't want an ordinary boy."**

Kristy sighed, oh well for that guy, she wasn't going to settle again. Not after her ex left stranded in the middle of nowhere.

**There was a bout of laughter from the jeep parked beside us, and a second later a blonde girl in a halter top suddenly stumbled over. **

"**Hey," she said, pointing at me. "I know you. Don't I know you?"**

"Urg, I hate overly drunk people," Kristy groaned, Bert and Wes nodded their heads in agreement.

Wes groaned, he had too much experience with over friendly drunk girls trying to flirt with him, it was disgusting and annoying.

"**Um, I'm not sure," I said, but I did know her. It was Rachel Newcomb: we'd run middle school track together. We hadn't spoken in years.**

"**I do, I do," she said, snapping her fingers, hardly seeming to notice everyone else looking on. Kristy raised her eyebrows.**

"**You know me, Rachel," Bert said quickly. "Bert? I tutored you last summer at the Kaplan center, in math?"**

"Really Bert, do you want her attention?" Kristy asked confused.

"No, well, not unless she cute," Bert smirked, "and if I remember correctly she was, she wasn't very smart, though. I probably was just trying to lighten the mood."

"She's a keeper," Kristy said sarcastically.

**Rachel looked at him briefly, then turned her attention back to me. "Oh shit, I know! We used to run together, right? In middle school? And now you date that guy, the one who's always yelling at us about bicycling!"**

"Bicycling?" Wes said confused.

"God she's an idiot, she mean recycling," Kristy groaned.

"Wow," was all Bert and Delia had to say, that brand of stupid was just sad.

**It took me a second.**

"**Recycling?" I said.**

"**Right!" she clapped her hands. "That's it!"**

**There was hysterical laughter from the jeep, followed by someone yelling, "Rachel, you're so freaking stupid!"**

Bert covered his mouth to keep from barking out a laugh; even her own friends are calling her stupid.

**Rachel, hardly bothered, plopped herself down between me and Bert. "God," she said, tipping her head back and laughing, "remember how much fun we used to have at meets? And you, shit, you were **_**fast**_**. Weren't you?"**

"**Not really," I said, instinctively reaching to smooth my hair before realizing it wasn't even parted. I could feel Kristy watching me, listening to this.**

"**You were!" She poked Bert in the arm. "You should have seen her. She was so fast, like she could . . ."**

**There was an awkward silence as we all waited for whatever verb was coming.**

"God, she can't even talk, either she's way too drunk or she really is really stupid," Kristy chuckled incredulous.

"It's both, she was stupid when I tutored her and now, she's stupid and ridiculously drunk," Bert shook his head in disgust.

" **. . . fly," Rachel finished, and I hear Kristy snort. "Like she had freaking wings, you know? She won everything. You know the only way anyone else got to win anything was when you quit."**

"**Well," I said, willing her to get up and move on, before she said anything else. Whatever anonymity I'd enjoyed so far this summer had been based on everyone from Wish not being from my school and therefore not knowing anything about me.**

"This better not be the way we find out about her dad," Kristy said quietly, but everyone heard and suddenly the room was silent and tense. Everyone wanted their book selves to know, but they didn't want to find out like this, that would be terrible.

**I had been given a clean slate, and now here was Rachel Newcomb, scribbling out my secret for everyone to see.**

"**We were the Running Rovers," Rachel was saying to Monica now, slurring slightly. "I always thought that name was so dumb, you know? It made us sound like dogs. Go Rovers! Woof! Woof!"**

"**Good God," Kristy said, to no in particular. Still, I felt my face burn, and that was even before I glanced up to see Wes looking at me.**

"**Look," Rachel said, slapping a hand on my knee. "I want you to know something, okay?"**

The tension in the room could be burned with a blow torch it was so thick.

"This is just wrong," Bert whispered.

**Even though I knew it was coming-how, I have no idea- I could think of no way to stop her. All I could do was stand off to the side and watch everything fall apart.**

"**And what I want you to know is," she said earnestly, as if this was private and we didn't have an audience, "that I don't care what anyone says, I don't think you're weird since that thing happened with your dad. I mean, that was messed up that you were there. Most people couldn't handle that, you know? Seeing someone die like that."**

Everyone closed their eyes, there it was, and it was told by a drunken idiot girl without a clue as to what she was doing.

They all felt so sad for Macy, that was a horrible way to talk about her father's death. It wasn't fair to her at all.

**I just sat there, looking at her: at her flushed face, the sloshy cup of beer in her hand, the white of her tan line that was visible, just barely, beneath the straps of her halter top. I could not bring myself to look at the others. So much for my fairy tale, however brief, my luxury of scars that didn't show.**

**Somewhere, I was sure I could hear a clock chiming.**

"**Rachel!" someone yelled from the next car over. "Get over here or we're leaving you!"**

"Yeah, just leave," Wes groaned. She just dropped the bombshell of the year on everyone and now she was just going to walk away. He had never been more disgusted with someone in his whole life.

"**Oh, gotta go!" Rachel stood up, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. "I'm going," she said, redundantly. "But I meant what I said, Okay? Remember that. Remember what I said. Okay?"**

**I couldn't even nod or say a word. Rachel stumbled off to the jeep, where she was greeted with more laughter and a few bicycling jokes. Then somebody turned up the radio, some Van Morrison song, and they all started singing along off-key.**

**It was one of those moment that you wish you could just disappear, every particle I you shrinking. But that, I knew, was impossible. There's always an after.**

"Unfortunately," Delia muttered.

"She shouldn't worry, we wouldn't look down on her for loosing someone,' Kristy argued.

"It not that, she doesn't want our pity, or the fake sadness that everyone's shown her since her dads accident, that what she doesn't want to deal with," Wes answered.

"Wes definitely wouldn't give her that," Bert said, "I guess I see why she would be worried though, I hate pity myself."

**So I lifted my head, and looked at Kristy, seeing Bert watching me, Wes and Monica's in my peripheral vision. **

**Then took a deep breath, to say what, I didn't know. But before I could, Kristy had walked over and sat down beside me.**

"**That girl," she said, wrapping her hand around mine, "is as dumb as a bag of hammers."**

"Way to defuse an awkward situation Kristy," Wes smiled at her.

"Thank you, thank you very much," Kristy smiled and took a bow.

"**No kidding," Bert said softly, and when I looked at him I saw not The Face, but instead a good-humored sort of disgust, not directed at me, not about me at all. **

"I would never look at anyone with that Face," Bert said seriously, shaking his head.

**Kristy leaned across me, saying, "wasn't she the one you had to explain the concept of prime numbers to during that summer math tutoring thing you did?"**

**Bert nodded. "Twice," he said.**

"Wow," Delia said shaking her head.

"**Moron."**

"**Mmm-hmm," Monica said, nodding.**

The Monica in the room nodded with that statement.

**Kristy rolled her eyes, then took a sip of her beer. Her palm felt warm against mine, and I realized how long it had been since anyone had held my hand. I looked at Wes, remembering his sculpture, the heart cut into the palm. **

Wes smiled.

**He was looking at me, just as I'd thought he would be, but like Bert's, his look was not what I expected. No pity, no sadness: nothing had changed. I realized all those times I'd felt people stare at me, their faces had been pictures, abstracts.**

**None of them were mirrors, able to reflect back the expression I thought only I wore, the feelings only I felt. Until now, this moment, as our eyes met.**

**If there was a way to recognize something you'd never seen but still knew by heart, I felt it as I looked at his face. Finally, someone understood.**

"I can definitely understand this," Both Wes and Bert exclaimed. Kristy and Delia looked down sadly lost in thoughts about Wes and Bert's mom, Wish.

"**Still," Kristy said wistfully, "I did like her halter top. I have a black skirt that would look just **_**great**_** with that."**

**We just sat there for a second, none of us talking. In the middle of the clearing, someone was playing with a flashlight, the beam moving across the trees overhead, showing bits and pieces of branches and leaves, a glimpse here and there, then darkness again.**

**I knew that in the last few minutes everything had changed. I'd tried to hold myself apart, showing only what I wanted, doling out bits and pieces of who I was.**

**But that only works for so long. Eventually, even the smallest fragments can't help but make a whole.**

"As much as I hate the way things were discovered," Delia said seriously, "it's better now that we know this, maybe now we can start to help her deal."

**An hour later, we were in the back of the Bertmobile on the couch, being honest. It might have been the beer.**

**I was not a drinker, never had been.**

"That's a good thing," Delia said nodding to the book.

**But after what had happened with Rachel, I'd felt shaken enough to agree when Kristy offered to go get me a very small beer, which I was, she assured me, under absolutely no obligation to drink.**

**After a few sips, we'd started talking about boys, and it just went from there.**

Delia frowned at Kristy who sunk lower in her seat, though Delia couldn't stay mad, after what Macy just had to deal with, anyone would want a drink.

"**Here's the thing," she said, crossing one boot over the other. "My last boyfriend left me for dead in the middle of nowhere. It's not like that should be so hard to improve upon. I want a nice boy. You know?"**

"Definitely," Delia said, 'having requirements and standards is not a bad thing."

"Thank you, Delia," Kristy nodded to her.

**It was strange to me to be sitting there as if the whole thing with Rachel had never happened. But after we'd sat there for just a second, Wes said he had someone he had to find who had promised him some rebar; Bert tagged along; and Kristy, Monica, and I moved onto the couch to discuss other things.**

**My secret, released, did not hover over like a dark cloud. Instead, it dissipated, grew fainter, until it seemed, if not forgotten, left behind for the time being.**

"That won't last forever, she needs to stop trying to forget and just deal with it, and if she doesn't her body will force her to eventually, one day she will just break down," Delia sighed.

"That will be good for her," Kristy agreed, "hard, but good for her."

"**What I would really like," Kristy said now, pulling me back to the present conversation, "is a smart boy. I'm sick of guys who can't even remember my name, much less spell it. Someone really focused and brainy. That's what I want."**

"**No, you don't," I said, taking another sip of my beer. Only when I swallowed did I realize they were both looking at me, waiting for me to elaborate. **

"**I had a boyfriend like that," I explained. "Or have. Or sort of have."**

"They are still together technically," Kristy answered thoughtfully.

Wes gritted his teeth at that, he hated guys who strung girls along like that, he might have been in limbo with Becky but she had a valid reason for it, she's in rehab, this Jason guy was just being a prick.

"**Oh, those are the worst," she said sympathetically, nodding.**

**I was confused. "What are?"**

"**Sort-of boyfriends." She sighed. "You know, they sort of like you, then they sort of don't. The only thing they're absolutely sure of is that they want to get into your pants. I **_**hate**_** that."**

"That's not what she meant," Bert snickered.

Kristy huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, "How can I give valid advice if she doesn't tell me the whole story? I'm just going with what she gave me."

"**Mmm-hmm," Monica agreed adamantly.**

"**Actually," I said, "it's not like that, exactly. We're more sort of not together, and not broken up. We're on a break."**

"**A break," Kristy repeated, sounding out the word as if it was foreign, one she'd never heard of before. "Meaning . . ." She moved her hand in a motion that meant I was supposed to jump in, anytime now.**

"**Meaning," I told her, "that there were some concerns about us not wanting the same things, not having the same expectation. So we've agreed not to be in contact until the end of the summer, and then we're going to see where we stand."**

**She and Monica contemplated this for a moment.**

"**That," Kristy said finally, "is just so very mature."**

"And ridiculous," Kristy added.

"**Well, that's Jason," I told her. "It was his idea, really."**

"**How long had this been going on?" she asked.**

**I thought for a second. "Since the night I met you," I told her, and her eyes widened, surprised. "He'd just emailed me about it, an hour earlier."**

"**That's so funny," she said, "because that night, I was picking up on something, like you had a boyfriend or were in some sort of situation." She pointed at Monica. "Didn't I say that, that night?"**

"How could you possibly tell that?" Bert replied skeptically.

"I'm sure I'll explain," Kristy shrugged.

"**Mmm-hmm," Monica said.**

"**You just looked . . ." she said, searching for the word, "Taken, you know? Plus you hardly reacted to Wes. I mean, you did a little, but nothing like most girls. It was a little swoon. Not a **_**sa-woon**_**, you know?"**

Wes rolled his eyes, this was getting old, "That it completely ridiculous. And what the hell is the _sa-woon_?"

"You'll see it makes sense," Kristy argued.

"I doubt it," Wes countered.

**I said, "Sa-woon?"**

"Thank you, even Macy doesn't now," Wes huffed. Kristy ignored him.

"**Oh, come one," she said, shaking her head. "Even a bling girl could tell he's amazing."**

**Beside me, Monica sighed wistfully in agreement.**

Wes chuckled, "I'm not amazing, but thank you."

"Oh please, of course you are, stop being so modest," Kristy said waving her hand in a "duh" type gesture.

"I have to agree," Delia smiled at him, she was so proud of him and how he take care of Bert, of course he was amazing.

"**So why haven't you gone out with him?" I asked her.**

"Oh, wow, this just turned into an awkward conversation," Bert chuckled as both Wes and Kristy shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"**Can't," she said flatly. "He's too much family. I mean, after the accident, when my mom flaked out and took off to find herself and we came to live with Stella, I was crazy for him. We both were."**

"**Bettaquit," Monica said darkly.**

"**It's still a sore subject," Kristy explained, while Monica turned her head, exhaling. "Anyway, I did everything I could do to get his attention, but he'd just come back from the Meyers School then, was still dealing with his mom dying and all that. SO he had a lot on his mind. At least I told myself that's why he could resist me."**

"You are amazing Kristy," Wes smiled to her, "but you are also like family to me, honestly, I just can't see you in that way. That doesn't mean you're not beautiful and lovely. That's just my opinion."

Kristy smiled and gave him a hug and whispered a thank you.

"**Meyer's School?" I said.**

**Kristy nodded. "Yeah. It's a reform school."**

Wes thought this was uncomfortable for a different reason, he wondered how Macy would react to that news about him, it wasn't something he was exactly proud of.

**I Knew this. Jason had tutored out there, and I'd often ridden along with him, then sat in the car doing homework while he went inside. **

"Oh," Wes said surprised, he couldn't remember a Jason, but then again he didn't really do the whole tutoring thing, he hadn't really needed it.

**Delia had said Wes had gotten arrested: I supposed this was the punishment. Maybe he'd even been there those days, as I sat in the car, looking up at the loops of barbed wire along the fence, while cars whizzed by on the highway behind me.**

"**Okay," Kristy said, tapping her foot to the music, "tell us about the sort-of boyfriend."**

"**Oh," I said, "we've been dating for a year and a half."**

**I took a sip of my beer, thinking this would suffice. But they were sitting there, expectant, waiting for more. **

"Well of course," Kristy chuckled.

**Oh, well, I thought. Here goes nothing.**

"**He went away for the summer," I continued, "and a couple of weeks after he left, he decided maybe it was better that we take this break. I was really upset about it. I still am, actually."**

"**So he found something else," Kristy said, clarifying.**

"With any other guy it would have meant that, but no, he's just an idiot," Kristy snorted angrily.

"**No, it's not like that," I said. "He's at Brain Camp."**

"**Huh?" Monica asked.**

"**Brain Camp," I repeated. "It's like a smart-kid thing."**

"**Then he found someone else at Brain Camp," Kristy said.**

"You're not going to let that idea go are you," Bert snickered at her.

"I just not used to smart guys acting that stupid," Kristy replied defensively.

"**No, it's not about someone else."**

"**Then what is it about?"**

**It just seemed wrong to be sitting here discussing this. Plus I was embarrassed enough by what had happened, what I'd done to freak him out, so embarrassed I hadn't even told my mother, whom I should have been able to tell anything.**

I could only imagine what these girls would think.

"It wasn't her fault it was his," Kristy said glaring at the book.

"She has a lot of trust issues, don't take it personally," Delia said trying to sooth her.

"**Well," I said, "a lot of things."**

**Another expectant pause.**

**I took a breath.**

"**Basically, it came down to the fact that I ended an email by saying I loved him, which is, you know, big, and it made him uncomfortable. And he felt that I wasn't focused enough on my job at the library. There's probably more, but that's the main stuff."**

**They both just looked at me. Then Monica said, "Donneven."**

"**Wait a second." Kristy sat up against the edge of the couch, as if she needed her full height, small though it was, to say what was coming next.**

"Time for a lecture from the Kristy," Bert announced in a "school announcements" kind of way.

Kristy rolled her eyes at him.

"**You've been dating for a year and a half and you can't tell the guy you love him?"**

"**It's complicated," I said, taking a sip of my beer.**

"**And," she continued, "He broke up with you because he didn't think you were focused enough on your job performance?"**

"**The library," I said, "is very important to him."**

"**Is he ninety years old?"**

"Exactly," Kristy said agreeing with herself.

**I looked down at my beer.**

"**You don't understand," I said. "He's been, like, my life for the last year and a half. He's made me a better person."**

"It sounds more along the lines of him making you feel bad about yourself," Kristy argued.

**This quieted her down, at least temporarily. I ran my finger around the rim of my cup.**

"**How?" she said finally.**

"**Well," I began, "he's perfect, you know? Great in school, smart, all these achievements. He can do anything. And when I was with him, it was like, good for me. It made me better, too."**

"**Until . . ." she said.**

"**Until," I said, "I let him down. I pushed too hard, I got too attached. He has high standards."**

"**And you don't," she said.**

"**Of course I do."**

"So he shouldn't be let off the hook for his actions, you need to hold him accountable," Kristy exclaimed.

Delia nodded her head in agreement.

**Monica exhaled, shaking her head. "Nuh-**_**uh**_**," she said adamantly.**

"**Sure it doesn't seem like it," Kristy said, seconding this. She took a sip of her beer, never taking her eyes off of me.**

"**Why not?" I asked.**

"**Listen to yourself," she said. "God! Are you actually going to sit there and say he was justified in dumping you because you dared to get attached to him after a year and a half? Or because you didn't take some stupid job at the library as seriously as he thought you should?"**

**I knew this was, pretty much, what I'd just said. But somehow it sounded different now, coming from her.**

"Yeah, It's called rational thinking, you should listen to it more often," Kristy huffed.

"Take it easy on her Kristy, she's been half alive for the last year and a half, its going to take her a while to fix her life again," Delia reasoned. Kristy sighed and let it go, she probably wouldn't have felt the same in Macy place.

"**Look," she said, as I struggled with this, trying to work it out, "I don't know you that well. I'll admit that. But what I see is a girl a guy, especially some library nerd who's off at Cranium Camp-"**

"**Brain Camp," I muttered.**

"It doesn't matter what it's called,' Kristy said rolling her eyes.

"**-would totally want to hear say she loved him. You're smart, you're gorgeous, you're a good person. I mean, what makes him such a catch, anyway? Who is he to judge?"**

"**He's Jason," I said, for lack of a better argument.**

"**Well, he's a fuckhead." She sucked down the rest of her beer. **

Delia shot a look at Kristy and Kristy mouthed a sorry back to her.

"**And if I were you, I'd be glad to be rid of him. Because anyone that can make you feel that bad about yourself is toxic, you know?"**

"**He doesn't make me feel bad about myself," I said, knowing even as my lips formed the words this was exactly what he did. Or what I let him do. It was hard to say.**

"I think it's a little both," Wes said quietly.

"**What you need," Kristy said, "What you deserve, is a guy who adores you for what you are. Who doesn't see you as a project, but a **_**prize**_**. You know?"**

"**I'm no prize," I said, shaking my head.**

"Of course she is," Delia exclaimed sadly, looking like she's about to cry for the Macy's pain.

"She knows that she's just in a rough spot right now," Wes said trying to sooth her and her hormones before she burst into tears.

"**Yes," she said, and she sounded so sure it startled me: like she could be so positive while hardly knowing me at all. "You **_**are**_**. What sucks is how you can't even see it."**

**I turned my head, looking back out at the clearing. It seemed no matter where I turned, someone was telling me to change.**

**Kristy reached over and out her hand on mine, holding it there until I had to look up at her. "I'm not picking on you."**

"**No?" I said.**

**She shook her head. "Look. We both know life is short, Macy. Too short to waste a single second with anyone who doesn't appreciate and value you."**

"That's true," Bert agreed, "and I think all of us know that."

"**You said the other day life was long," I shot back. "Which is it?"**

"**It's both," she said shrugging. "It all depends on how you choose to live it. It's like forever, always changing."**

"**Nothing can be two opposite things at once," I said. "It's impossible." **

"**No," she replied, squeezing my hand," what's impossible is that we actually think it could be anything other than that. Look, when I was in the hospital, right after the accident, they thoughts I was going to die. I was really fucked up, big time."**

"You could use better words Kristy," Delia huffed at her.

"I know I know, but hey this is in the book and it wasn't even around you, I can't be at fault for it," Kristy groaned.

Delia said and relented rolling her eyes, "Fine."

"**Uh-huh," Monica said, looking at her sister.**

"**Then," Kristy continued, nodding at her, "life was very short, literally. But now that I'm better, it seems so long I have to squint to see even the edges of it. It's all in the view, Macy. That's what I mean about forever, too. For any one of us our forever could end in an hour, or a hundred years from now. **

**You can never know for sure, so you'd better make every second count."**

"You sound like the guy from Titanic," Bert laughed.

"Leonardo Dicaprio! And so what we are both right,' Kristy shrugged.

**Monica, lighting another cigarette, nodded. "Mmm-hmm," she said.**

"**What you have to decide," Kristy said to me, leaning forward, "is how you want your life to be. If your forever was ending tomorrow, would this be how you'd want to have spent it?" **

**It seemed like it was a choice I had already made. I spent the last year and a half with Jason, shaping my life to fit his, doing what I had to in order to make sure I had a place in his perfect world, where things made sense. **

**But it hadn't worked.**

"Nope, now it's time for something new," Kristy nodded.

"**Listen," Kristy said, "the truth is, nothing is guaranteed. You know that more than anybody." She looked at me hard, making sure I knew what she meant. I did. "So don't be afraid. Be **_**alive**_**."**

**But then, I couldn't even imagine, after everything that had happened, how you could live and not constantly be worrying the dangers all around you. Especially when you'd already gotten the scare of your life.**

"**It's the same thing," I told her.**

"**What is?"**

"**Being afraid and being alive."**

"No its not," Kristy disagreed.

"**No," she said slowly, and how as if she was speaking a language she knew at first I wouldn't understand, the very words, not to mention the concept, being foreign to me.**

"**Macy no. It's not."**

"Thank you, other me," Kristy laughed. Everyone rolled their eyes at her.

**It's not, I repeated in my head, and looking back later, it seemed to me that was the moment everything really changed. **

**When I said these words, not even aloud, and in doing so made my own wish: that for me this could somehow, someday, really be true.**

"It is true, you just have to believe it," Kristy smiled.

**A little bit later Kristy and Monica headed off to the keg again, but I stayed behind, sitting on the back bumper of the ambulance. I was feeling a bit woozy from the small amount of beer I'd had, not to mention everything Kristy had said. Too much to contemplate even under the best of conditions, now it was close to impossible.**

**I looked up after a few minute to see Wes coming toward me from across the clearing. He had a bunch of metal rods under his arm-**

Wes smiled those rods could help with a few sculptures, and he was going to talk with Macy, that's nice.

**The rebar he'd been promised, I assumed. I just sat there watching him approach, his slow loping gait, and wondered what it would be like if he was coming to see me,**

"I am," Wes said confused.

"I think she meant romantically," Delia smiled at him

"Oh," Wes looked down blushing. Then he sighed, he sort of wished he was coming to her that way, but he couldn't, not yet there were a few things his book-self needed to see first. His book-self still didn't know her well.

**Coming to be with me. It wasn't what I thought when I saw Jason; that was more a reassurance. With him in sight, I could always get my bearings.**

**If anything Wes was the opposite. One look, and I had no idea what I was doing.**

"**Hey," he said as he got closer, and I made myself look up at him, as if surprised, oh look, there you are. Which worked fine, until he sat down next to me, and again I felt that looseness, something inside me coming undone.**

**He put the rods down beside him.**

"**Where is everybody?"**

"**Oh. Right."**

Wes smiled, he could tell he kind of liked her already, he wasn't usually this nervous around girls where he didn't try to make real conversation.

**Talk about forever: the next silent minute seemed to go on for that and longer. I had a picture of a school clock in my mind, those final seconds of the hour when the minute hand just trembles, as if willing itself to jump to twelve.**

**Say something, I told myself, sneaking a glance at Wes. He hardly seemed to be noticing this lapse, instead just watching the crowd in the middle of the clearing, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. Once again I could see the very bottom of the tattoo on his upper arm.**

Wes smiled and shrugged, "It's just the heart in hand again."

"Then you should probably tell her that," Bert chuckled.

**Kristy had told me to live, whatever that meant in all its variations, and her words were still resonating. Oh well, I thought, here goes.**

"**So what is that?" I asked him, forcing the words out, then immediately realized I was looking at him, not his arm, so this question could concern just about anything.**

**He raised his eyebrows, confused, and I added-face flushing, God help me-"Your tattoo, I mean. I've never been able to see what it is."**

**This full sentence, an inquiry to boot, seemed to me on par with Helen Keller finally signing W-A-T-E-R. I mean, really.**

"She shouldn't be so nervous, really I'm sure I feel just as awkward," Wes said shaking his head.

"**Oh," he said, pushing up his shirtsleeve, "It's just this design. You saw it that first day you came to Delia's, right?"**

**I felt myself nodding, but truthfully I was just staring at the black, thick lines of the design, now fully revealed: the heart in the hand. This one was, of course, smaller, and contained within a circle of boarded by a tribal pattern, but otherwise it was the same.**

**The flat palm, finger extended, the red heart in its center.**

"**Right," I said. Like the first time I'd seen it, I couldn't help thinking that it was familiar, something pricking my subconscious as weird as it sounded. "Does it mean something?"**

"Yes and no," Wes answered thoughtfully.

"**Sort of." He looked down at his arm. "It's something my mom used to draw for me when I was a kid."**

"**Really."**

"**Yeah. She had this whole thing about the hand and the heart, how they were connected."**

**He ran a finger over the bright red of the heart, then looked at me.**

"**You know, feeling and action are always linked, one can't exist without the other. It's sort of a hippie thing. She was into that stuff."**

"**I like it," I said. "I mean, the idea of it. It make sense."**

Wes smiled as his fingers ran over the design on his arm, he was pleased she liked it.

**He looked down at the tattoo again. "After she died I started tinkering with it, you know, with the wielding. This one has the circle, the one on the road has the barbed wire. They're all different, but with the same basic idea."**

"**Like a series," I said.**

"Yeah, it is like a series I guess," Wes nodded thoughtfully.

"**I guess," he said. "Mostly I'm just trying to get it right, whatever that means.**

**I looked across the clearing, catching a sudden glimpse of Kristy as she moved across through the crowd, blonde head bobbing.**

"**It's hard to do," I said.**

"Yes, it always is," Delia agreed.

"I don't think you really can get it right, but you can get close to it," Wes replied.

**Wes looked at me. "What is?"**

**I swallowed, not sure why I'd said this out loud. "Get it right."**

**He must think I'm so stupid, I thought, vowing to keep my mouth shut from now on. But he just picked up one of the rods he'd carried over, turning it in his hands. "Yeah," he said, after a second. "It is."**

**Kristy was now almost to the keg. I could see her saying something to Monica, her head thrown back as she laughed.**

"**I'm sorry about your mom," I said to Wes. I didn't even think before saying this, the connotation, what it would or wouldn't convey. It just came out, all on its own.**

"It when it's unconsciously done that's its most sincere," Delia smiled.

"And it wouldn't bother me if she said it," Wes shrugged.

"**I'm sorry about your dad," he replied. We were both looking straight ahead. "I remember him from couching the Lakeview Zips, when I was a kid. He was great."**

**I felt something catch in my throat, a sudden surge of sadness that caught me unaware, almost taking my breath away.**

**That was the thing.**

**You never get used to it, the idea of someone being gone. Just when you think its reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you and it just hits you all over again, that shocking.**

"Especially when she has been trying to ignore his death," Kristy whispered.

"**So," he said suddenly, "Why'd you stop?"**

"**Stop what?" I said.**

"**Running."**

**I stared down into my empty cup. "I don't know," I said, even as that winter day flashed in my mind again. "I just wasn't into it anymore."**

"That's not why," Bert murmured.

"She'll say when she's ready," Wes reasoned.

"**How fast were you?" Wes asked me.**

**I said, "Not that fast."**

"**You mean you couldn't . . . fly?" he said smiling at me.**

**Stupid Rachel, I thought.**

Wes chuckled at that.

"**No," I said, a flush creeping up my neck, "I couldn't fly."  
>"What was your best time for the mile?"<strong>

"**Why?" I said.**

"**Just wondering," he said, turning the rods in his hands. "I mean, I run. So I'm curious."**

"**I don't remember," I said.**

"**Oh, come on, tell me," he said, bumping my shoulder with his. I cannot believe this, I thought. "I can take it."**

"From the sounds of it she was pretty fast, I bet I'll be embarrassed when I hear the time," Wes laughed.

**Kristy was glancing over at us now, even as finger guy was still talking. She raised her eyebrow at me, then turned back to face him.**

"**Okay, fine," I said. "My best was five minutes, five seconds."**

"Wow," Wes said, "I'm not even close to that."

"What's yours?" Kristy asked.

"Let's just say not 5'5," Wes said shaking his head.

**He just looked at me. "Oh," he said finally.**

"**What? What's yours?"**

**He couched, turning his head. "Never mind."**

"**Oh, I see," I said, "That's not fair."**

"**It's more than five-five," he told me, leaning back on his hands. "Let's leave it at that."**

Everyone smiled, he said the same thing he had said in the book, it was both amusing and slightly creepy.

"**That was year ago," I said. "Now I probably couldn't even do half a mile in that time."**

"**I bet you could." He held the rod up, squinting at it. "I bet," he said, "You'd be faster than you think. Though maybe not fast enough to fly."**

**I felt myself smile, then bit it back. "You could outrun me easily, I bet."**

"I doubt it, she just needs a little practice and she'll be back to whipping my butt," Wes smiled.

"**Well," he said, "maybe someday, we'll find out."**

**Oh, my God, I thought, and I knew I should say something, anything. But now Kristy, Bert, and Monica were walking toward us, and I missed my chance.**

"**Twenty minutes to curfew," Bert announced as he got closer, looking at his watch. "We need to go."**

"**Oh, my God," Kristy said, "you might actually have to go over twenty-five to get us home in time."**

"Ha, ha, you're so funny" Bert grumbled.

"Stop teasing you two," Delia said, pointing at Wes and Kristy who were laughing, Wes raised his hands in surrender and Kristy just kept chuckling.

**Bert made a face at her, then walked to the driver's side door, opening it. Monica climbed up into the ambulance, plopping herself on the couch, and I followed her, Kristy right behind me.**

"**What were you two talking about?" she whispered as Wes pulled the doors shut.**

"Nothing, just talking," Wes smiled over at her. Kristy rolled her eyes, she wasn't blind both book Wes and real Wes were falling for Macy. It was only a matter of time before they knew it for sure.

"**Nothing," I said. "Running."**

"**You should have seen your face," she said, her breath hot in my ear. "Sa-woooon."**

"You're so ridiculous," Wes groaned rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, sure it's me that ridiculous," Kristy huffed.

"Enough, both of you," Delia sighed, this was getting exasperating.

"That's the end of the chapter," Wes replied.

"I'll read," Delia said holding out her hand.


	11. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer**: I do **Not** own _The Truth about Forever_ or any of its characters they are the property of Sarah Dessen and her publishing company The Penguin Group.

Time got away from preparing my friend's wedding again apologies, I'm trying to be more consistent I swear.

Also I apologies for criticizing promises made by writers on here, I obviously can't talk. I agree no more promises but I will be trying to do these faster and more consistently. Truly.

**Chapter 9**

"**Chapter 8" **Delia read.

"**Okay," Carline said, pushing a button on the camera and then coming over to sit next to my mother. "Here we go."**

**It was Saturday morning. My sister had arrived the night before, having spent the day in Colby meeting with the carpenter about the renovations and repairs to the beach house. **

**This was familiar ground to her, as she'd already done her own house, plus the place she and Wally had in the mountains.**

"Oh that must be nice especially during the winter," Delia smiled.

"Imagine, all the cute outfits you could buy to snuggle in the mountains," Kristy chuckled while Bert and Wes rolled their eyes.

**Decorating, she claimed, was her calling, ever since one of her collage art professors told her she had a "good eye," a compliment that she took to mean she was entitled to redo not only her own house but also anyone else's.**

"Man I am really starting to wonder if she's really Macy sister, she sounds more like Kristy's," Bert snickered.

Kristy just stuck her tongue out at him.

**So although my mother was just barely on board-which was itself miraculous, in my opinion-Caroline was moving full steam ahead, **

**showing up with not only most of her extensive library on home decorating but also pictures she'd taken with Wally's digital camera, so she could walk us through the suggested changes with visual aids.**

"That's actually a really good idea, easing her mother into redoing the house without forcing her mother to go back and forth there," Delia nodded approvingly.

"Yeah and that way if will be more of a surprise when the end product is all put together," Wes added. "Even with the pictures they won't be able to get a real full effect until they are there."

"**These are a real lifesaver when you're doing long-distance remodeling," she explained as she hooked the camera up to the TV. "I don't know what we ever did without them."**

**She pushed a button, and the screen went black. Then, just like that, the beach house appeared. It was the front view, the way it looked if you had your back to the ocean.**

"It must be beautiful to have land right there on the ocean," Kristy sighed.

"Not to mention relaxing," Delia agreed rubbing her belly.

**There was the deck, with its one rickety wooden bench. There were the stairs that led over to the dunes. There was the old gas grill, beneath the kitchen window.**

**It had been so long since I'd seen it, but still I felt a lurch in my stomach at how familiar it was. It seemed entirely possible that if you leaned in closer, peering in the back window, you'd see my dad on the couch reading the paper and turning his head to look at you as you called his name.**

"This project is really going to help them deal with their dad's loss," Bert said quietly.

"It will force them to relive the good moments instead of wallowing in his death," Kristy said, "Macy already has been thinking about old memories of him."

**My mother was just staring at it, holding her coffee cup with both hands, and I wondered again if she was going to be able to handle this.**

"That poor woman, she needs some rest before she deals with this, I wonder if she's sleeping at all or just drowning herself in work," Delia said in her worried mother voice.

"Yeah, I think that's really going to be a problem soon," Wes said, he wondered if Macy would be able to handle that and help her mom, she seemed so afraid to talk to her.

**But then I looked at my sister, and she was watching my mom too. After a second she said, very carefully, "So this is the way it looks now. You can see that the roof is sagging a bit. That's from the last big storm."**

**My mom nodded. But she didn't say anything.**

"She should hold her hand again, maybe that would help," Kristy offered to the book, Wes almost laughed, it was easy to get caught up in the reading and forget that, though it is what will happen in the future, it's still just a book for now.

"**It needs to be braced, and we have to replace some of the shingles as well. The carpenter was saying as long as we're shoring it up we might want to consider adding a skylight, or something . . . . since the living room gets so little light from those front windows. You know how much you always complained about that."**

**I remembered. My mother was forever turning on lights in the living room, complaining it was like a dungeon.**

**("All the better for naps!" my father would claim, just before falling asleep on the couch with his mouth open.)**

"My kind of man," Bert laughed, then gave a fake yawn and stretched. He winked at Wes who hit him in the back of the head.

"You don't need any more naps, you sleep like the dead as it is," Wes replied rolling his eyes.

**She preferred to spend her time in the front bedroom, which had a big window. Plus the moose gave her the creeps. **

"I would have to agree with her there," Kristy chuckled.

**I wondered what she was thinking now.**

**It was hard for her; it was hard for me, too. But I kept remembering everything Kristy had said two nights before, about not being afraid, and how if I'd come home when I got scared, I would have missed everything that happened.**

Kristy smiled, "And that's why people should listen to me more."

Bert mimicked her silently when she wasn't looking and Wes shook his head. He was starting to wonder if Bert did all that because he had a crush on her. He shook his head; that was definitely something he didn't need to, nor want to, know.

"**But I've never dealt with skylights," Caroline said. "I don't know how much they run, or if they're even worth the trouble."**

"**It depends on the brand," my mother said, her eyes on the screen. "And the size. It varies."**

"Skylights are so beautiful, my friend had one when we were little, me and your mom use to sleep over and try to count all the stars," Delia said smiling at the boys.

**I had to hand it to my sister. For all her pushing, she knew what she was doing. Take one small step-show the picture, which she knew would be hard for my mother-and pair it with something she'd feel entirely sure about: work.**

**It went the same way for the next half hour, as Caroline carefully guided us through the beach house, room by room. At first it was all I could do to swallow over the lump in my throat when I saw the view from the deck of the ocean,**

**Or the room with the bunk beds where I always slept.**

"It's weird how when you lose someone, you expect everything to change but it doesn't its still there looking just the same as before, just the view is a little different," Wes murmured.

Everyone nodded their heads gravely.

**Even worse were the pictures of the main bedroom, where a pair of my dad's beat up running shoes was still parked against the wall by the door.**

**But slowly, carefully, Caroline kept bringing us back. For every sharp intake of breath, every moment I was sure I couldn't bear it, there was a question, something logical to grab onto.**

"I'm sure she knew just when to do that too," Delia nodded smiling.

"Mmm-hmm," Monica agreed dryly.

**I'm thinking maybe glass blocks instead of that window in the bathroom, she'd say, what do you think? Or, see how the linoleum's coming up in the kitchen? **

**I found some great blue tile I we could replace it with. Or would it be too expensive? And each time, my mother would reply, grabbing the answer as if it was a life preserver in a choppy sea.**

**Once she had her breath back, they'd move on.**

"They probably will get this done in no time," Kristy said, impressed by Caroline.

**When the slideshow was over, I left them in the living room discussing skylights and went to pull my laundry out of the dryer so I could iron something for the info desk the next day. **

**I was almost done when my mother appeared in the doorway, leaning against it with her arms crossed over her chest. **

"**Well," she said, "your sister sure seems to have found herself a project, hasn't she?"**

"Just like Kristy, taking it upon herself to say who or what needs fixing," Wes chuckled.

"Just because I have good taste and are willing to help others doesn't mean that I'm over doing it or a bad person, thank you very much," Kristy snapped at him. Wes put up his hands in surrender.

"**Where is she?"**

"**Out in the car. She's got some swatches she wants to show me." She sighed, running her hand over the edge of the door frame. "Apparently, corduroy upholstery is all the rage these days."**

"That sounds great," Bert said sarcastically.

**I smiled, smoothing a crease out of the pants I was holding.**

"**She is an expert at this," I said. "You know what a great job she did with her place, and the mountain house."**

"**I know." She was quiet for a second, watching as I folded a shirt and put it in the basket at my feet. "But I can't help but think it's a lot of money and work for such am old house. Your father always said the foundation would probably go in a few years . . . I just wonder if it's worth it."**

"Oh no," Delia muttered.

"I hope her mom doesn't try and sell it, she can't get rid of everything that reminds her of her husband," Kristy said worried.

**I pulled Kristy's jeans out of the dryer and folded them. The black heart on the knee was just as dark as ever. "It might be fun," I said, picking my words carefully. "To have a place to go again."**

"**I don't know." She pulled a hand through her hair. "I wonder if it would be easier, if the foundation might be flawed, to just take it down. Then we'd have a lot and just start over."**

"Wow, she wants to tear it down, Jesus, she must really be in pain to want to destroy it like that," Bert muttered, everyone was surprised they had thought at the least all she'd want to do was sell it.

**I was bent over, peering into the dryer to pull out the last things in there, and for a second I just froze. Minutes ago, I'd gotten my first look at the beach house in over a year. To think that it, like so much else, might one day just be gone-I couldn't even imagine.**

"**I don't know," I said. "I bet the foundation's not that bad."**

"**Mom?" Caroline called from the living room. "I've got the swatches . . . Where are you?"**

"**Coming," my mother said over her shoulder. "It's just an idea," she added, more quietly, to me. "Just a thought."**

"That's one hell of a thought," Bert replied.

"Bert!" Delia huffed.

"Sorry," he said turning away.

**It shouldn't have surprised me, really. My mother trafficked in new houses, so of course the idea of everything being perfect and pristine, even better than before, would appeal to her. It was the dream she sold every day. She had to believe in it.**

"**It that new? She asked me suddenly.**

"**Is what new?"**

"Uh- oh, I hope she doesn't get in trouble for having my clothes," Kristy said biting her lip nervously.

**She nodded at the tank top I'd just finished folding. "I haven't seen it before."**

**Of course she hadn't: it was Kristy's, and here, in the bright light of the laundry room, I knew it looked even more unlike something I'd wear than it had when I first agreed to put it on. **

**You could plainly see the glittery design on the straps, and it was clear it was lower cut than my mother was most likely comfortable with.**

Kristy grimaced at that, she didn't want Macy to get in trouble, this time in reality she will have to convince Macy to change at the house before leaving.

**In Kristy's room, in Kristy's world, it was about as shocking as a plain white T-shirt. But here, it was completely out of place.**

"**Oh, this isn't mine," I said. "I just, um, borrowed it from a friend."**

"**Really?" She looked at it again, trying to picture, I was sure, one of my student council friends sporting such a thing. "Who?"**

**Kristy's face immediately popped into my mind, with her wide smile, the scars, those big blue eyes. It the tank top was enough to cause my mother concern, I could only imagine how Kristy, in one of her full outfits, would go over,**

"Probably not so well," Kristy admitted with a shrug. "I can live with it."

Wes just laughed at shook his head at her.

**Not to mention any of my other Wish friends.**

**It seemed simpler to, and smarter, to just say, "This girl I work with. I spilled some salad dressing on my shirt last night so she lent me this, to drive home in." **

"**Oh," she said. It wasn't that she sounded relieved, but clearly, this was an acceptable explanation. "Well. That was nice."**

"Don't mention it, I know I can be so nice sometimes," Kristy chuckled waving her hands dismissively through the air.

Now everyone rolled their eyes at her.

"**Yeah," I said, as she left the doorway, heading to the kitchen, where my sister and her swatches were waiting. "It was."**

**I left downstairs, my mother listening dubiously as Caroline explained about how corduroy wasn't just for overalls anymore, and went up to my room, putting my laundry basket on the bed.**

**After I'd stacked all my T-shirts, shorts, and jeans in the bureau, the only things left were Kristy's jeans and the tank top. **

"She should just keep them, they sounded perfect for her, I probably wouldn't have cared if she did, or even noticed really," Kristy admitted shrugging.

**I went to put them on the my desk, where I'd be sure to see them the next time I was leaving for work and could return them, but then, at the last minute, I stopped myself, running the thin, glittery strap of the tank top between my thumb and forefinger.**

**It was so different for anything of mine, it was no wonder my mother had noticed instantly. That was why; instead, I slipped it into my bottom drawer, out of sight, and kept it.**

"Looks like she agreed with you," Bert laughed. Kristy just rolled her eyes, she knew her book self wouldn't mind; if she remembered at all.

**On Sunday, my sister was cooking dinner, and she needed arugula. I wasn't sure what that was. But still got recruited to go look for it with her.**

"I have so much to teach her," Delia smiled and everyone laughed.

After working with Wish catering for a while, there would be nothing food related Macy would ever question again.

**We'd just started down the second aisle of the farmer's market, my sister deep in the explanation of the difference between lettuce and arugula, when suddenly, there was Wes.**

**Yikes, I thought, my hand immediately going to my hair, which I hadn't bothered to wash**

**(So unlike me, but Caroline, convinced there was going to be some mass rush on exotic greens, had insisted we leave right after breakfast),**

Everyone laughed and Wes shook his head, "I really won't care or even notice I'm sure she look as pretty as always."

Kristy smirked at him, "I bet she does."

Wes tried but failed to ignore her flushing in embarrassment.

**Then to my clothes-an old Lakeview Mall 5K T-shirt, and shorts and flip-flops-which I'd thrown on without considering the fact I might see anyone I knew, much less Wes.**

**It was one thing for him to see me catering, even if I was in disarray, at least I wasn't alone. Here, in broad daylight, though, all my anxieties came rushing back.**

" **. . . Not to be confused with field greens," Caroline was saying, "which are an entirely different thing altogether."**

"Her sister is kind of oblivious," Kristy laughed.

**He was at the very end of the row, with a bunch of sculptures set up all around him, talking to a woman in a big floppy hat, who was holding her checkbook. **

**Looking more closely, I saw one big piece, which was sporting a **SOLD **sign, as well as several smaller ones. They were all whirligigs, a part of each spinning in one direction or another in the breeze. **

"Ah, you're selling today," Bert nodded at Wes, "and it sounds like its going good, congrats."

Wes nodded back, it seemed like his luck was holding since the last time he sold at the store.

**I took a sudden left, finding myself facing a table full of pound cakes and crocheted pot holders, as Caroline kept walking, still talking about various types of greens.**

**It took her a second to realize I'd ditched her, and she doubled back looking annoyed.**

"Took her long enough," Kristy smirked.

"**Macy," she said, entirely too loudly, at least to my ears, "What are you doing?"**

"**Nothing." I picked up one of the pot holders. "Look, aren't these nice?"**

**She looked at the pot holder-which was orange and spangled and not nice at all-then at me. **

"She going to see right through that," Delia chuckled.

"**Okay," she said. "Tell me what's going on."**

**I glanced back down at Wes, hoping he'd gone to look for arugula too, or had gone to help the woman get the sculpture to her car.**

Everyone laughed.

"I doubt I'm looking for arugula," Wes snorted, shaking his head.

**But no.**

**Now, in fact, he was looking our way. My way, to be exact.**

"Aw, the jig is up," Bert announced rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

**The woman with the floppy hat was gone, and he was just standing there, watching me.**

**He lifted his hand and waved, and I felt my face flush as I put the pot holder down with its hideous brethren.**

Wes wondered if his book self likes her already too, then he shook his head at most his book self probably thinks she pretty and decent he doesn't really know much about her other than her father died and she used to run. It will take time before he really takes her seriously.

"**Macy, what on earth is wrong with you? Are you okay?" Caroline squinted at me from behind her entirely too expensive designer sunglasses, then turned her head to see what, exactly, had made me turn bright red.**

**I watched her gaze more across the tables of fresh corn, goat cheese, and hammocks, until finally: "Oh."**

**I knew what she was thinking; I could hear Kristy's voice in my head: **_**Sa-wooon.**_

Kristy chuckled then shook a finger at Wes, "Exactly."

"Yes, exactly ridiculous," Wes grumbled, annoyed at this term that seemed to never die.

"**Do you know that guy?" she asked me, still staring.**

"**Sort of,' I said. Now that we'd seen each other, there was no amount of pot holders, or hammocks, that could save me. Thinking this, I took Caroline by the elbow. "Come on."**

**As we got closer, I looked at the sculptures and realized there were no heart in hands on display. Instead, I noticed another theme: angels and halos. **

Wes nodded he had been working on a few pieces with angels and other things, some especially cool ones such as the one with the old Coke sign, he wondered what other one he had made.

**The smaller pieces were all stick figures made of various bits of metal and steel, with gears for faces and tiny nails for fingers and toes. Above the heads of each was a sculpted circle, each decorated in a different way.**

**One was dotted with squares of different colored glass; another had long framing nails twisting off in all different directions, an angel Medusa. **

Wes smiled he had just started that one, he thought it looked kind of creepy, but in good way.

**On the large sculpture with the **SOLD **sign, barbed wire was threaded around the halo, much the same as on the sculpture on Sweetbud Drive, **

**and I thought of the Meyer School again, the way the wire there had curved the same way around the fence, roped like ribbon.**

"That's where I got the idea from, that and mom's heart and hand," Wes nodded.

Bert smile at that he loved Wes sculptures of the hearts.

"**Hey," Wes said as we came up. "I thought that was you."**

"**Hi," I said.**

"**These are amazing," Caroline said, reaching out her hand to the large sculpture and running a finger along the edges of the gear that made up its midsection. "I just love this medium."**

"Oh boy, she is an art major, this should be interesting," Delia said smiling at Wes, he laughed.

"**Thanks," Wes said. "It's all from the junkyard."**

"**This is Wes," I said, as she walked around the sculpture, still examining it. "Wes, this is my sister, Caroline."**

"**Nice to meet you," Caroline said in her socialite voice, extending her hand. They shook hands, and she went back to circling the sculpture, taking off her sunglasses and leaning in closer. **

"**What's great about this is," she said, as if we were in a museum and she was leading the tour, "is the contrast. It's real juxtaposition between subject matter and materials."**

"I love when people over think my sculptures, it always makes for an interesting conversation," Wes smiled.

**Wes looked at me, raising his eyebrows, and I just shook my head, knowing better than to stop my sister when she was on a roll. Especially about art, which had been her major in college.**

"**See, it's one thing to do angels," she said to me, while Wes looked on, "but what's crucial here is how the medium spells out the concept.**

**Angels, by definitions, are supposed to be perfect. So by building them out of rusty pieces, and discards and scraps, the artist is making a statement about the fallibility of even the most ideal creatures."**

"Nice, not what I was going for at all," Wes laughed, "but it sounds nice, I just couldn't afford the high end materials."

Kristy laughed, "I think she's only getting started."

"**Wow," I said to Wes, as she moved on to the smaller pieces, still murmuring to herself. "I'm impressed."**

"**Me, too," he replied. "I had no idea. I just couldn't afford new materials when I started."**

**I laughed, surprising myself, then was surprised even more-no, shocked-when he smiled at me, a heartbreaker's smile, and for a second I was just in the moment: me and We, surrounded by all those angels, in the sunshine, on a Sunday. **

Wes couldn't help the smile that lit up his face. He would like to be able to help Macy come out of her shell, like Kristy does, only without the flashy tops and girl-talk.

"**Oh, wow," Caroline called out, shaking me back to attention, "is this sheet metal you used here? For the face?"**

**Wes looked over to where she was squatting in front of a figure with a halo studded with bottle caps. "That's an old Coke sign," he told her. "I found it at the dump."**

"**A Coke sign!" she said, awed.**

"**And the bottle caps . . . it's the inevitable commingling of commerce and religion. I love that!" **

"That's deep brother," Bert said squinting his eyes and looking wistful, "that's real deep, when did you get so serious and message driven."

Wes smacked him up-side the head and rolled his eyes.

**Wes just nodded: a fast learner,**

**He already knew to just go along with her. **

"She not the first one to do that, though she a little bit more serious than the others," Wes shrugged.

"**Right," he said. Then, in a lower voice to me he added, "Just liked to Coke sign, actually."**

"**Of course you did," I said.**

**A breeze blew over us then, and some of the halos on the smaller pieces began to spin again. A small one behind us was decorated with jingle bells, their ringing like a whistling in the air.**

**As I bent down closer to it, the bells whizzing past, I saw the one behind it, which was turning more slowly. It was a smaller angel with a halo studded with flat stones.**

"I think she likes it," Delia smirked at Wes. Wes blushed but didn't comment he would love for Macy to have one, man these feelings driving him crazy, he felt intrigued and interested in her and guilty because of Becky, this isn't going to be easy.

**As I touched one as it turned, though, I realized it wasn't a stone but something else that couldn't place at first.**

"**What is this?" I asked him.**

"**Sea glass," Wes said, bending down beside me. "See the shapes? No rough edges."**

"**Oh, right," I said. "That's so cool."**

"**It's hard to find," he said. The breeze was dying down, and he reached out and spun the halo a bit with one finger, sending the light refracting through the glass again.**

**He was so close to me, our knees almost touching.**

"Wes, get your flirt on," Kristy said wiping at invisible tears, "I'm so proud of you."

"Whatever, and I'm not flirting with her, my book self barely knows her," Wes muttered.

"**I bought that collection at a flea market, for, like, two bucks. I wasn't sure what I was going to use it for, then, but it seemed too good a thing to pass up."**

"**It beautiful," I said, and it was. When the halo got going fast, the glass all blurred, the colors mingling. Like the ocean, I thought, and looked at that angel's face.**

**Her eyes were washers, her mouth a tiny key, the kind I'd once had for my diary. I hadn't noticed that before.**

Wes smiled he knew he would give it to her, he could tell she like it and he didn't mind, he wanted her to have it.

"**You want it?"**

"**I couldn't," I said.**

"**Sure you can. I'm offering." He reached over and picked it up, brushing his fingers over the angel's tinny toes. "Here."**

"**Wes, I can't."**

"**You can. You'll pay me back somehow."**

"**How?"**

**He thought for a second. "Someday, you'll agree to run that mile with me. And then we'll know for sure whether you can kick my ass."**

Okay, Wes smirked to himself, maybe he was flirting with her, but she's just exactly his type of girl, of course his book self would realize that, he wouldn't be surprise if he felt the same way Macy did about him.

"**I rather pay for it," I said, as I reached into my back pocket for my wallet. "How much?"**

"**Macy, I was kidding. I know you could kick my ass." He looked at me, smiling. Sa-woon, I thought.**

"You are not going to teach her that when we really meet her," Wes said annoyed again.

"Yes, I will just to bug you," Kristy laughed and Wes hit her with a pillow.

"**Look. Just take it."**

**I was about to protest again, but I stopped myself. Maybe for once I should just let something happen, I thought.**

"I agree, just let it happen," Bert smirked.

"You sound like a creeper with a white van," Wes laughed at him.

**I looked down at the angel in his hand, at those sparkling bits of glass. I did want it. I didn't know why, couldn't explain it if I had to. But I did.**

"**Okay," I said. "But I am paying you back somehow, sometime."**

"**Sure." He handed it to me. "Whatever you want."**

Wes smiled hoping she would forget, he didn't want anything from her, he was giving it to her freely.

**Caroline was coming back over to us now, picking her way through the smaller sculptures and stopping to examine each one. She had her purse open, her phone to her ear.**

"**. . . no, it's more like a yard art thing, but I just think it would look great on the back porch of the mountain house, right by that rock garden I've been working on. Oh, you should just see these. They are so much better than those iron herons they sell at Attaché Gardens for hundreds of dollars. Well, I know you liked those, honey, but these are better. They are."**

"I agree," Delia smiled.

"One, you have to say that, you're my aunt," Wes chuckled, "and two, you don't even know what Iron herons are."

"Well that last part is true, but even if I did know, your sculptures are still better," Delia smirked.

"**Iron herons?" Wes said to me.**

"**She lives in Atlanta," I told him,**

**As if this explained everything.**

Everyone laughed. That comment made no sense, but at least she knew it didn't.

"**Okay honey, I'm going. I'll talk to you later. Love you, bye!" She snapped the phone shut, then dropped it into her purse before slinging it back over her shoulder. **

"**All right," she said to Wes, "let's talk prices."**

**I hung back, holding my angel, as they walked through the various pieces; Caroline stopped the negotiations every so often to explain the meaning of this piece as Wes stood by politely, listening. **

"Of course, she might be miles off but she your sister, she's nice, and she's paying, so of course I will listen politely, I'm not a jerk," Wes smiled.

**By the time it was all over she'd bought three angels, including the Coke bottle cap one, and had gotten Wes's number to set up an appointment for her to come see the bigger pieces he had out at his workshop.**

"Nice," Wes smiled.

"**A steal," she said, ripping her sizeable check out of her checkbook and handing it to him. "Really. You should be charging more."**

"**Maybe if I show someplace else," he told her, folding the check and sticking it in his front pocket, "but it's hard to get pricey when you have baked goods on either side of you."**

"Yeah that would just be awkward for everyone," Wes shrugged.

"**You will show someplace else," she told him picking up two of her angels. "It's only a matter of time." **

**She looked at her watch. "Oh, Macy, we have to run. I told Mom we'd be home for lunch so we could look at the rest of those color swatches."**

**Something told me my mother, who that morning had picked out windows and a skylight with about as much enjoyment as someone getting a root canal, would not be broken up to miss that conversation.**

"I'm pretty sure anyone would want to miss that conversation," Bert snorted. Delia and Wes nodded while Kristy rolled her eyes.

"What? It could be interesting, you have to give things a chance to surprise you," Kristy shrugged.

**But I figured it wasn't worth pointing that out to Caroline, who was already distracted checking out another angel with a thumbtack halo, which she'd somehow missed earlier. **

"**Well," I said to Wes, "thank you again."**

Wes waved his hands dismissively.

"**No problem," he said, glancing over at my sister. "Thanks for the business."**

"**That's not me," I told him. "It's all her."**

"**Still," he said. "Thanks anyway."**

"**Excuse me," a women by the big sculpture called out, her voice shrill, "do you have others like this?"**

"I'm on a roll, I will just have to get to work on pieces," Wes smiled at the thought he loved when people liked his sculptures.

**Wes looked over. "I should go, I guess."**

"**Go," I said. "I'll see you later."**

"**Yeah. See you around."**

Bert turned to Wes smirked and blew him a kiss, Wes hit him upside the head for the millionth time.

"Stop or you'll give him more brain damage," Kristy laughed and stuck his middle finger up at her.

**I stood there watching as he walked over to the woman, nodding as she asked her questions, then looked down at the angel in my arms, running a finger over the smooth sea glass dotting her halo.**

Wes smiled, he wanted to put something extra nice on there now, something she would remember whenever she looked at it.

"**Ready?" Caroline said from behind me.**

"**Yeah," I said. "I'm ready."**

"That's it," Delia smiled.

"I'll read," Bert said holding out his hand.

"I hope her mom will start to come around now," Bert murmured.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure Macy will but I think the problem will be her mom," Delia sighed and everyone looked at the book wondering what Macy would do about that.


	12. AUTHORS NOTE

_**Author's note:**_

_**Okay so for all of you who are interested I'm starting my hand at writing originally. I have been writing a story for a while now so I have decided to share it on fiction press so just look me up under my jright name and I hope you enjoy since I have already written many chapters there's is no concerns with it interfering with my fanfiction I vow and the updates will be much quicker so please enjoy and give me lots of feedback.**_


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